Pink Martini .....Stirred.

8. Am. Pink martini doing wonders, through the headphones.

It is warm inside the tube. Contrast to the chill of the morning.

The guy next to you becoming a bit restless . Struggling. And seems to be set to set a world record as the most annoying passenger. Now he is talking to himself . You think of ways to rid him of his life. 101 ways to be exact.

Back to martini . Hang on little tomato she sings. Your lips curl up. You smile. This is not the way Mr Bond likes it.

Stirred. Smooth.

Now she whispers in French. You are happy and blushing . You can hear the grass growing.

I know.

During the trumpet interlude you close your eyes and picture her slowly moving to the tune. Her satin dress sketching her silhouette . Sharp lines fade in to smooth fluid pastel smudges. (Almost)… thoughts. She calls “Hey Eugene”. Eugene? Who the hell..

“Pinesa En mi” , Think about me ,she says .

You smile again. I understand . I am you.