Waving Not Drowning

Anthony liked big girls. Tall girls, the taller the better. Anything over six one, six two and he was over the moon, literally. Preferably blonde, and preferably amply endowed. Big breasted, wide hipped, full lipped, amazonian goddesses. Occasionally he'd settle for a shorter girl- five eight, five ten- which blew Mark's mind. Only in Anthony's world would that be considered a short woman. It's not like supermodel tall, bombshell built blondes were over populating their world. The odds weren't in Anthony's favour, which Mark tactfully tried to explain last Friday night at the pool hall. Besides, they seldom explored outside of their neighbourhood haunts so by now the two or three suitable options had been well worn and played out. To be frank, Mark was tired of talking around the elephant in the room. There's only so many excuses he could make to Anthony for the lack of action. He had game, oh boy, did Anthony have game. He could charm the paint off the wall...

All Anthony wanted was a few bananas and some peanut butter. His kingdom for Nutella but he wasn't hedging his bets. He was slow going, still half in the bag from last night's commiseration session with Isabelle gnashing and wailing about Kev's new girlfriend. Anthony gets it, he does. Lord knows she put up with the Great Heartbreak of 'o8 with him. A solid year of despair and self loathing. Surviving the war. They forgot to get breakfast fixings and it's going on noon. His stomach was beyond rumbling, it was a full blown orchestra with kettle drums pounding. It's a fine line between nausea and hunger. He realizes the sound isn't emanating from his intestines but rattling the windows from College Street below. Christ almighty, the Resurrection parade. Thousands of devout Catholics lined up 5 bodies deep, celebrating the Easter holy days. For six blocks police cordoned off both sides of the street and locked down traffic. He'd never get out his front door...