Celeste.

What a magnificent creature.

Strong legs, a fine mane, eyes which smolder with passion. Oh yes.Ever since I first saw her, I was transfixed.

Not that I intended to do anything about it. Heck no, I’m just a cop, patrolling the streets at night. A cool cop, I think. My friends call me Ghostrider. I pretend to diss them, but it secretly pleases the hell out of me.

Celeste. I light my cigarette, inhale deeply. Smoking. Another one of my dirty secrets. Like her. A mini-van drives by; some kid’s driving it. I throw them a stern look, the driver looks sober enough though. I don’t move. Heck, it has been a long day. I’m sure they’ll be fine.

I put the lighter back in my pocket and my fingers brush across a piece of paper. I open it. It’s a napkin. With her lipstick on it. I smell it. Is it her perfume? Or is it just my imagination working in overdrive?

Celeste. Her lovely face flashes in front of my eyes, with those luscious lips. Those lips that I have longed to kiss. That neck, that I’ve wanted to smell…those legs…I sigh and stub my cigarette against a tree…I better not think of her anymore. She’s just bad news.

And yet she hounds me…she’s like a sickness of my soul.

Celeste.

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