I was having a bad day. My room mates were all out and I was left alone on a Saturday night.
So I started to take a stroll. Down memory lane of course.
Memory street. I swear there's a street named memory.
Anyway, a car passed by me. Asking for directions. Told her to go ask someone else.
I was not really from there. Just taking a vacation.
That's how I ended up in her bed.

It was early morning when I left her. Couldn't believe what I just did.
Her husband would have called me home wrecker.
If the poor guy knew about us.

Her husband would have killed me.
Knowing he's a police officer of sort.
Or put me in jail for something.

Then again I am always cautious.
Never tell. Never say.
Keep them guessing to the last minute.

Until I saw her again in Greenhills. This time with the entourage.
The kids. The husband. And the grandparents.
And they have no idea.

Of our secret glances.
Of the sweet surrender.
Or the sweet fillings that still calls out to me.
Night after night.

That is how my addiction with tarts started.