sex and savagery in modern ireland

Evening over the city.
Ireland's greatest living lecher sitting in a tram.
Opposite him sits a slim tired looking girl with dark hair.
She might be a shop girl on her way home.
I glance at her.
She has a certain sensual je ne sais quoi.
Presently I notice she has made a moue with her lips.
They moue about a bit.
The effect is quite dramatic.
Now they've moued over to the other side of her face.
The pout is more extreme.
Her tongue moistens the lower lip.
I try to keep my monitoring of the situation discreet.
Now she moistens her upper lip.
Her mouth is deliciously curved.
Her lips moue as if forming words.
Now she's pure pouting again.
Good Lord.
Our eyes meet.
I see in her gaze a flash, not of desire, but of pain.
A thought strikes me.
I must speak.
"You've got a mouth ulcer, haven't you?" I ask wearily.
"Yes," she replies. "It's killing me."
Interestingly enough bold readers, I think it nearly killed me too.