Paulson flopped a leg lazily over the side of the bed, his large big toe swirling around on the carpet. His female companion had drifted contentedly to sleep, the sex had been exciting, both of them trying too hard. Paulson could hear the sea washing foam against the sand, the heat of the sun against
Tag: A Paris Vampire
Chandelier poets sip crystal absinthe lounging within the walnut panelled walls of the cafe Jardines des Tuileries nestled within the 17th century mansions of Le Marais. Tinkling glasses, heavy feet of panting waiters mixed with the refined voices of bourgeois decadence amalgamated into a glossary of sound deciphered by the ear drums of a wolf.