Lyle is hungry.
It seeps from his body like a wave of corruption to spread about him. It shines like a dark light, touching every woman he passes in the street.
And they know it. Like animals, aware of a scent, they recognise him as he passes them by, seeing him for what he is; Hungry. A man starving with lust.
Lyle sits alone in his apartment as a wisp of cigarette smoke curls from his hand in the darkening light. Outside, the city is beginning to come alive as the annual Jazz festival gets under way, but in the apartment, amongst the deep shadows around the single armchair, Lyle sits motionless.
He listens to the thumping beats and squealing saxophones which echo in the distance with a mind consumed with sexual longing. Even the rain is erotic in Lyle's head. Droplets run together on the cold glass of his window, joining and flowing with slick ease.
He takes a long hard drag at the cigarette, listening to its faint crackle.
From the landing comes the sound of his neighbour's door opening. Keys jangle briefly, then her shoe's clatter down the stairs, fading into the sound of the city's dark Jazz heart beat, and even in his apartment, Lyle detects the faintest trace of perfume in the air.
The door to the street slams shut behind her with a resounding bang, as if Lyle is the only person left in the building now.
He takes another sip of cold coffee, and fumbles for another cigarette.
The rain suddenly grows more urgent. It's hammering on the window demands his attention and he walks over to the window to hang his head in the night air. Four storeys below, the street is empty but for the rows of dark cars.
He lets the rain soak his hair until he feels the chill, then with an abrupt burst of optimism; he decides to check out the Jazz festival.
Money in one side, keys and lighter in the other, Lyle gropes in his pockets for change at the cigarette boutique on the city's main plaza.
Behind him, under a vast awning, a five man band is playing a contemporary fusion of Jazz to a loud thumping beat. The entire plaza is filled with people dancing, ignoring the rain.
Lyle stands on the steps of the bank, sheltered by its fake neo classical entrance, surrounded by the detritus of the urban landscape. Drunks, lonely people, ragged people, nodding to the music as they sell each other drugs.
He watches the dancers under the awning, shifting his eyes from each woman, searching for the one whose form pleases him the most. A pleasant young addict edges closer to him, a bottle of beer gripped in one small hand and sniffs loudly to catch his attention.
"Fiffy and I'll blow ya" she finally speaks when his glance slides from her back to the crowd.
He ignores her, though he feels the intense burn of temptation. She shrugs and walks past him muttering under her breath and he watches her, debating with him self whether to follow after her and accept her offer, knowing he never will as she moves along the street searching amongst the men who stand there.
The hunger increases. It rears up within him, and he begins to walk slowly behind her, keeping his distance and letting his imagination run.
He imagines her naked, in a bed, in the light of the summer sun, whilst curtains flap in a light breeze. In his mind she is a jewel, buried by misfortune, just waiting to be found by him. He grants her intelligence and wit in his eagerness to be persuaded. She has a body, young and pert with small breasts that sit taunt and eager for his lips.
She stops to talk to a man who. Like Lyle is watching the dancers. A young man with wet, greasy looking hair and blonde stubble. He nods and follows her quickly down a side street and Lyle stands in the rain watching them disappear into the shadows.
He tries to move closer without being seen, but there is no cover, and an empty dizziness has already overtaken him. He turns back to the crowd of dancers and searches desperately for the packet of cigarettes.
Dancing, her hair loose and curling from the rain is Kirsty, his neighbour.
The cigarette, forgotten, soaks up the rain as he stares at her with eager eyes. Ever since she moved into twenty one B, his life has revolved around hers.
Without knowing it, she has become the focus for his sexuality these last six months, for each time she has brought home a man; Lyle has lain in his bed, listening to her.
At first she seemed chaste, but as time passed she became more daring. From brief conversations on the stairs, he has learned that she had moved out of a previous relationship, coming to the city to escape her former life and to find novelty, and perhaps a new future.
After the first, Lyle had rearranged his furniture, and now his bed rested against the same wall as hers.
Four times, Kirsty had brought home a man, and each time, he had listened to them eagerly, to their drunken laughter, to their desperate fucking.
Mostly though, he had listened to her. To the sound of her.
Feigning indifference he moves through the dancers close by her, hoping to be noticed, but she dances on, unaware of anything but her friends, the music, and what ever it is that makes her laugh like that.
He stops when he has moved beyond her then returns back to tap her on the shoulder.
She turns with a smile which widens as she recognises him.
He shouts "hello", but the music drowns out his voice. Still she grabs his arm and leans closer to yell her reply, and to ask if he is alone. The smell of her moves through like a phantom.
He waggles his head, and she pointed to her friends, all of whom are dancing about her, young and fashionable students, but it's hard to see who they are, since the people around them seems to press in on all sides as if the whole crowd belong to her.
He nods his head energetically to their vague faces, sliding his eyes back to her to gauge her mood.
She passes him her beer, and he takes it, the smell of her still in his head and the taste of the bottle, so recently from her mouth, making him giddy.
His eagerness to be bold surges in his stomach and he thinks he feels the blood moving in his inner thighs. He turns from her to scan the crowd, as if he might not be alone, then shrugs and smiles at her.
She brushes long red hairs from her face as she returns his smile and resumes her dance.
Lyle dances too.
As he does he almost falls, clumsy in the jostling crowd, but a man catches him. He looks up with a nervous smile into friendly brown eyes in a dark face and apologises soundlessly in the noise of the music. The black man smiles briefly in return, letting him go. His teeth flash white in the strobing darkness.
The song ends and the singer, his voice hoarse begins to name the band so Lyle moves closer to Kirsty, who is clapping dutifully with the crowd and asks if she would like another beer? She smiles and nods happily, meeting his eyes briefly.
Filling with screaming anticipation he presses his way to the beer tent where others are also headed as they take advantage of the lull in the music.
By the time Lyle has returned with two bottles, the music is resumed. The singer is into his second song since the interval, and Kirsty is no where to be seen.
He searches the crowd and finds one of the student friends and pressing closer he lifts his head at her and questions her as to Kirsty's where abouts.
"Who?" the girl replies, shaking her head.
"Kirsty" he shouts at her.
She shakes her head and shrugs and he realises that she has no idea who he is talking about.
