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September 19, 2012 § Leave a comment

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Coming back one by one.

September 8, 2012 § Leave a comment

“Somethings you do for money, somethings you do for fun, but the things you do for love are gonna come back one by one.” – Love Love Love – The Mountain Goats.

I was sat near the window on the second floor of an apartment in Sacramento when the thought hit me. Clean through the front lobe, bits of brain and skull everywhere. Had I not been sat down I would have hit the floor with one of those dead weight, no knee bending, indifferent falls. Thud. I could hear a girl throwing up in toilet a door over. I could feel the dull haze of my hangover shift and blur across my thoughts. It’s amazing how you get used to the sounds. The retching, the impacts, the breathless hope that soon this will all be over. Better over. This was the train to the greener grass. This is work before the weekend. This is the way home. She knew this. That’s what the audible exhale was about when she rehearsed the end.  When the content was all up, and the body had stopped trying to reject those last dashes of fluid in the stomach, when that warm sweat fades into reality. That’s better. Normal is so easy. Normal is so safe.

She breezes out of the bathroom barley clothed into the shrapnel of last night. Empty seats around me I found myself sat on the floor, back on the wall, radiator to my left, blinding sunlight pouring in from the window overhead. Lidless whiskey bottles lie on their sides in the wreckage of what seemed like sense six hours ago. Hangovers are better with shorter hair. My jeans cling tight and the split booze is starting to give of that overly familiar stale booze smell. A bottle of red wine had spilled or smashed on the hard wood floor and the contents had escaped through the gaps in the floor. Cigarette butts. There’s always cigarette butts here. She was getting ready for something. The conversation sat uneasy, once started both parties hoped it would come to a swift conclusion. Both parties didn’t care that they couldn’t remember a few sentences back. Music helps like fried food.

It’s amazing. That dull morning light. A steady drum beat. The heart starting to come back a bit into key. Starting to feel a little more normal. A little more at home. The world goes steady at times like this. It knows it should be being gentle on us. The apatite turns up when you think you can hold it down. I was thinking, that, hey, maybe I’m getting too old for this.

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