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Nick Travers

Copyright Nick Travers 2012

Published at Smashwords

To the sexy brunette running down Wandsworth Road last Friday: ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you. Hope your foot is Ok. Call me,’ I read out the advert in the personal columns of the Evening Standard.

Catch you?’ Michelle scoffed, ‘he tripped you up then practically threw you on the ground.’ Michelle shares a house with me. We are mates, but we see the world from opposite ends of the spectrum.

I lowered my paper, annoyed Michelle should break into my romantic fantasy, ‘He did try to catch me.’ The bruise on my leg was itching again.

He dropped you.’

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