If a girl has a chiselled chin and wears a contrasting coloured corset, that’s when she shows it. Perhaps she turns away, pretending to be distracted…

Nights of lights will come, colourful, neon, ombre lights dimming in and out of dark spaces. Nights will come, and hands will be held, to go, and to come. But most importantly, to come. But it cannot be this night; it must be other nights. We cannot burden this one more than it already has been. Girls will move modestly behind the seats, wearing more colours, bright eyes, short-cut pixie hair, and lemon neon dresses. They will stand at a distance and stare at the district officer from across the room. He doesn’t speak much, but he sees everything. Sitting wide-legged, a bowl of nuts in hand, a jar of beer by his side. His jaws slide over one another, teeth grinding, Adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallows, something the girls can’t help but notice when the neon lights flicker. These nights are swallowing nights of merry. The lemon dress girls have dreamt about it. Nights when he looks out. He will see you, and he will ask the patrolman if they know you. The patrolman will slyly glance your way, and that’s when you must be gentle with your hair, exposing the collarbone. If a girl has a chiselled chin and wears a contrasting coloured corset, that’s when she shows it. Perhaps she turns away, pretending to be distracted… Then, she looks back. But the jar of beer is empty. No nuts for the district officer and no nuts for you. The officer is no longer there. Where went who? Still, every day, he thinks of all the lemon girls. And the one with the collarbone. The one he will finally bring in. The unforgettable lemon girls think of him too, and the nights they would have had in Mykonos with the great Tittotos.