Whispers from The Wind

Sammy took a peek at his cheap plastic, white wall clock, as  he sipped his over sweetened black coffee…He hated the taste of  that black poison but liked the rush, so, an extra spoon of sugar  was the price that he had to pay…He observed that the time was eight, as he sat himself down in front of the coffee table and  proceeded out of habit and nerves, to rub his left hand up and down  the fabric of his brick colored couch. He liked that velvety feeling.  Smooth one way and kind of rough the other. Like two silk sheets  being rubbed together. One way coarse, the other way slippery,  smooth and erotic.  

Originally the couches had been green, but the hot Sharm sun  that spared nothing and nobody, had faded them badly when they  were used in Marty’s patio bar, so when Sammy bought them, he  went ahead and had new covers made.