She’s walking around the small town just before 2 p.m. The main street is empty except for sound. On the daytime street lamps, there are loudspeakers playing pop music, as usual in the holiday season. As she enters the local Carrefour the song is Flesh for Fantasy. Billy Idol, her old poetic flame. The one she’d married in her mind though not in name.
She’d written him letters, had done imaginary interviews featuring him with her grade nine bestie, recorded on cassette tapes as they giggled helplessly.
She’d imagined his fierce gaze pinning her to the wall, his sneering sensual lips navigating the lines of her throat and the hardness of his biceps as he’d press her against him; his, forever his.
Never did she mail the letters, and never would she want to meet him. Even if it’d been possible she would’ve turned seven shades of crimson, lost her whim. She preferred the fantasy of him to the flesh. She knew he had the pick of a gazillion fish.
The words of the music in the empty town crash against her chest like lightning in a deep-storm sea.
(Billy Idol – Flesh for Fantasy – Official Music Video)
A little eighties flashback, friends. ;)) Who was your eighties fantasy?
(Image by LIANE via UNSPLASH – edit: removed. Title fixed too!)
Nadine inhales & exhales words & images from current vantage point in Diagonale du Vide, France. Thank you for reading. ❤︎