And the Pier floating on the lake, people down below, walking through their own shadows. I see stars, and the sea, and lights, and people, and stars, and the sea, and lights. He grabs the bag and leaves closing the door as quietly as he can. They must have had too much wine last night even spilled some. The Bernstein's were good hosts, though their place could use some cleaning. I say nothing to the little girl and her dog lying in the corner. Hats are out of style now, but I like them.Īt the door, I look back at the woman still lying in bed. I leave my coat, but plant a hat on my head. Fuck it! I am in no mood to untie and tie it all over again. I carelessly slip my tie on around my shirt collar. Isn't it supposed to be snowing in February? Slowly, the sky turns into a characteristic red glow that is typical of the City and a cold breeze hits my face.
I peek out of the window, as the last remnants of sunlight disappear and the City compensates with fluorescent, artificial lights. Maybe, a walk in the morning sun will do me good. The blackness around its eyes, and the swollen lips make me wonder about last night. I run my fingertips over it, and feel its dry, calcareous texture. He sits tapping a tune on the table, staring at his reflection in the window, planning his trip to the sea.Ī large crack runs down the glass, from corner to corner behind which, an anaemic face stares back at me with bloodshot eyes. He watches as the dark sky turn ghost white for a flash a big crack and boom follows a few seconds later. Fuck it! Shaking my head, I take my pint to the table. He's sleeping like a corpse, with his mouth open drooling all over the bar. “Do you want to hear a joke, Jack? Once this clown walks into a bar.” “Thanks for serving me, Jack!” I say slapping his head hard he does not wake up. The bartender is lying with his head on the bar. It was dripping minutes ago!Ī cloudy golden liquid pours out of the tap and I fill up my glass. The sink is dry, he watches as the fingers turn the tap, and nothing. He can hear his footsteps, heavy, as he drags himself to the bathroom sink, finally awake, half-awake at least. What the hell is that doing here? And how the hell is she still asleep? He jumps emphatically out of bed, but the woman lies unperturbed. I pull my body out of bed and it trips over a bag lying around. I am laughing, as I throw the comic aside. In the dying lights of the day, he sees a maniac surrounded by flames, shadows dancing on his body, laughing hysterically, screaming “ This belongs to me! ”. He grabs the book from his face, and the twilight glow of the dusk sky filters into his eyes. It is not flesh, but something that is coarse and crumples as the fingertips prod it. I feel my biceps contract, and the elbow bend as the fingers, still wiggling, move up to the face. I feel my fingers on the side of my body, and wiggle them. Maybe if I rub my eyes a little, and shake the sleep off, maybe I'll see.
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