He’s been leaving messages again. I’m busy, but I make my way to Downing Street. I don’t try to get through. Don’t want to make trouble for him. Instead I wait. His passion for me is revealed as he is driven by. It’s all in his averted eyes, sulky mouth.
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‘Love me’ it says. Big white letters on the side of a Valentine-red cow. Standing in the centre of the city, against brick and glass. A surprise, he thinks. Meant to be. But it’s only what I dreamed. And I told him my dream. And Gideon stole it from me.
Bovine the Valentine had come early and with unexpected force, ditching last year's sweetly demure, "Would you be mine?" painted in violet scripted lace and instead casting his message in "hip thrusting, fire engine, nothing but passion lying naked on a bed" red. Necco's conversation hearts had nothing on him.
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