Ankles
Ankles
“Ankles.” Noted, Master Satan.
Yes. Ankles. I saw beautiful ankles.
“Where?” In Wembley. On the street.
“What ankles?” What kind of ankles?
She wasn’t European or an English lady.
“So?” I think she came from the east. From far.
What did this woman look like?
Well dressed. White clothing. Snow-white.
Tall and slender. Short jacket. Indian style trousers
And high heels. Age around thirty. Nice face.
The Pharaoh’s Daughter. But something was interesting.
“What?” The time. I saw her when I entered the shop.
Walked in front of the shop. Slowly. Watched.
I bought a big bottle of cider. Then I talked to the shop assistant.
He is my brother. An indian guy. After shopping, I crossed the road.
Then I arrived at the corner. She crossed the road before me at the corner.
“She waited for you.” Yes. I think. Because I talked in the shop for minutes.
Then she came in front of me. Walked. I saw her ankles. Her steps slowed down.
“I understand. What did you do later?” Wait. I want to find the answer from.
“Where from?”
From my Catholic Prayer Book. Text is in Hungarian. Wait. Just a minute.
Thank you for your patience.
From the Seven Deadly Sins: Lust.
“And?”
I touched my body with impure intent.
“Hmm. Why?”
I was blocked
From the ankles
It happened at
25. 08. 2025
Afternoon
In Wembley Park
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