As the fairground sights wound to a close, the sun hit the stalls with the setting shade. Up on the hilltop ridge, the students piled back heading home, cast in shade, shadows of bodies.
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I joined them, but one last time couldn’t resist taking look at a stall or two. And behind me, I was aware of a stocky man with short cropped fair hair and a thin roll-up cigarette which burnt red with each puff against the shifting greys of the waning light.
I could sense his following me and so I kept moving before I ducked into a clothes stall. He came too, the red embers flicking sparks behind me, when I pushed up against the clothes rod and pulled apart the clothes from the rail.
Only I could not get the clothes apart quickly enough and I found myself pushed further into the rail, the weight of a foot against my buttocks driving me further into the clothes, the hard feel of the wool a contrast against the soft but forceful push from behind.
Photo from RawPixel
