Sweat soaked suit; shirt and all
He shouted his driver to halt
Without waiting for the Honda to completely stop
Impatiently and violently flung the door open
Jumping haphazardly out, into a small mud.
Running not unlike a mad man in frenzy
But more like a young boy in danger
Knocking down everything in his way
Without speaking to the haggard man at the door
He threw him #500 note
Kicked open the locked door
With his shining Italian shoe
Nearly chucking the cover off
He sat almost with his pant on
Po-ro-po-po-po, they all came down.
He purged everything out in a minute or so.
Like a catholic just confessed by his priest
But more like a Freudly analysed person
He felt unbelievably relieved
But the relief he got, only that place could give.