September Castle Ball

You might becide to settle for a little fun and take yourself off to a dance. For which ratio you are mostly too old for. Except that you have often gone. You might have got a £1,900 discount on an incredible occasion wear, a huge silk affair with a slightly stocky bodice but a huge train bunched into a bustle, costing only £100. You might not have appreciated what a bustle stood for. You might have hired a car for the day and got there a bit early, enough to call upon an informal change in the downstairs loo. You might have felt enough at home to bohemian hosts, presuming them to be shrouded around with putting to bed and checking on cooks.

The bathroom may not have been far from the main door, led through from the studded wooden castle door by flagstones, where it may have been reached thankfully. Room for a chair and maybe a chest of drawers. There may have been a shabby tapestry carpet and a complementing hint of colour on the walls, added to an air of Sheng fonic object receptiveness. You may have been in your tights and bodice with the dress unwrapped.

A recognised voice may have knocked on the door through a procedure of someone calling themselves security. With a gothic purge there may have been a watch plunge of gathered characters donning tweed for blood sports employment, at the behest of a Sherlock Homes manager in black tie to a Masonic delusion over plucking. There may have been three or four. In any event the sound cut out.

Several years later through Facebook feeds, a feminine man knocked after the others had gone, in order to convene for the ensuing shock, which had been left wretching. There was a sit down procedure and some coma yoga modelling. Sound came back on and you may have been left with your dress fully on and all set for the evening, with little or no room for recent immediate events. Just a jot of mascara on the marram.

Then there were drinks and there was praying in the private chapel.

And the awful thing had no frame of mind but a puzzle for how the dress had been done up. And the evening of dinner sailed on upstairs yet to an apparent encouragement for desisting what could have been developed such as the art of late starting but for having found a wardrobe to an articulated seeming. Anyhoo. There were avenue rows of students who never reappeared in particular, and a divorced woman of her forties gave over her handbag for safe keeping from the borders, out of which you took two cigarettes against a trusty kinship, and then you went around messily articulating DNA results under the profile of a woman determined by manhood.

Copyherence can be but recovered where disorder wouldn’t have extended.

The photographer came and photographed you pulling a grimace with someone who’d gone around spreading the sighting of White Rabbit. You got given your pudding in hand in the form of a cooked breakfast where a three course meal had gone before with no apparent hiccup. Maybe you hadn’t had the plums. You did at least two dances and had to put up with not being gone up to except by responses to cameratic attempts without a flash. Solotic lentil days and weeks were yet lay ahead. A fat man from Glenshee probably had important parents. A thin acquaintance with a special brother had a go about discussing scarlet as a character reference.

In translating you weren’t meant to make life extensions out of rejoining a familial family ball. You were disassociated but freely so that you could still subscribe news by email.

Rape often runs through a group with focus. You may have been rude about up and coming people managers in your past life, to which you have become but stock in their designs from having refused to admit gracefulness, mainly by being unaware of it in other people. Yet for madness there would be no negotiation. By myth you may hold to being a tranny in letting shyness count for something. Tone tercity in mentality is but the stuff of stuffing off. It is okay to work on men but as women’s desires. Officiated watching can but be bloking until a disastrous phase of ennui from being of a different persuasion with only piping up.

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