Death Hotel

I was walking through the food court in Scotia Square in Halifax. It was lunchtime and the place was crowded.

I got the sense that someone was watching me. A woman, halfway across the courtyard.

I kept walking towards her and it was a little difficult to be casual about the fact that we were staring straight at each other. She was tall and slender, with green eyes, short blonde hair and a green dress.

I stopped beside her table and glanced down at her, looked away and then looked back at her again.

"Hi," she said.

"Hello."

She was smiling. "I'd like to sleep with you tonight."

Her statement took me by surprise. Pleasantly.

The thing is, she had me. I'd been blatantly checking her out and there was no chance of playing it cool or elusive in this situation.

So I clicked my tongue and smiled back and said: "Yes."

The scene changed and the two of us were at some dimly-lit, smoky bar. I was standing a little ways off while she engaged in a heated argument with another man.

Two things dawned on me at once. First of all, this man was her boyfriend. Or at least he thought of himself as such, and didn't seem too thrilled about changing his mind.

Second of all, he was Ozzy Osbourne. A young Ozzy, only about 23 or 24. She kept calling him "John."

Ozzy was being very insistent. He was getting in close to her, trying to grab her shoulders and turn her around to face him.

She kept saying, "No, John."

After a while of this, I walked up to her and hooked my fingers around her arm. I leaned over and said softly, "Hey. C'mere."

We walked away together and did not look back. And that is how I stole Ozzy Osbourne's hot girlfriend.

I understood why she'd been so forward in the food court. There's nothing like a lady on the rebound.

Then I dreamed that we went back to my place and I undressed her and pushed her down on my bed and did whatever I wanted with her.

I woke up this morning in quite a state.