the weakness of those who wobble alone. ‘This has been happening since
school. I’ve been round to his
flat on several occasions and the conditions have been verging on unsanitary
but I’ve told him he’s got to
stop relying on people.’
Some make an art of restlessness, some a career fuelled by that need to
keep on. Some die a long
undignified death. There’s a race of folk looking for salvation and finding the
honey in poisoned trees. There’s a race of folk supping till they’re ill but still going
back for more. For more.
There’s a race of folk in dirty tatters, raising their hands to the sky, feeling the
light on their face, pleading for redemption. But the truth is akin to growing up.
The spirit is encased in a delicate piece of machinery that demands great responsibility of care.
‘Will you stay and watch The Karate Kid with me?’
‘No. I’m too busy to watch a film you’ve seen thirty times before. I’ll only stay
if we’re going to clean this place up.’
‘No. I’m dying. Please leave.’ He says this definitely.
‘Do you feel better when you’re not drinking?’
‘Of course I do!’ his indignation cuts scornfully.
‘Let’s clean up then and start again then.’
‘No. I’m dying. Please leave.’ There’s a note of glee in his voice that causes me
to harden. I stand up to leave.
‘Are you going?’ he asks, a panic sharpening his voice.
I walk out. I walk out and I close the door. I close the door and I sprint away. I
sprint, I’m scared
he might follow and discover I only live two streets away. My heart is racing. I feel
like I’ve run away from
a scene of Leaving Las Vegas. He wants me to sit with him and make the transit
pleasurable. He wants to
drink himself to death while the most beautiful girl in the world smothers him with
the warm musk of
her plump petals. The most beautiful girl who laughs in all the right places, watches
his childhood films
and sinks hard to become one till the end. I can’t do that though. The sofa’s pissstained and I’m restless too.
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