I stooped into the room, it was a closet made good for training exercises, with a pneumatic man on the table, all torso no legs.
The thought struck me, “We are living science fiction lives. It’s no use wishing Hitler had won. It’s what the TV told us to do.”
Ricky said, he always said, things to me that were best left unsaid. He said: “Pretty much the whole thing is meaningless.”
Which struck me as disconcerting. Worrying, almost.
Then I started reminiscing;
(A semi-colon came to mind, but it was late, I was hanging out, on the deck sinking piss, having put to sleep all my kids and the mrs, she was sleeping too.)
Waiting for things. To happen. They never do.
I was on Mount Ainslie with my mate, he was going mad, but I didn’t know it at the time, he was seeing crows flying in from the Masonic compass down towards that bit where the lake meets the bridge, and the fountain sprays.
He saw way much more than I ever did. Kangaroos were staring, and chewing, as they always do.
Buses in the bus park, cars in the car park, we were circling the lighthouse, the airport was working late, beneath us, the american eagle stood off at the distance.
Later, much later, Ricky was laughing and suggested we go back to that club downstairs. We agreed.
They started yelling. Ricky was laughing, and said “She had her hands around my neck.”