Saturday, September 05, 2009

"things that never happened" 002/01

Schrecker's latest mongrel wouldn't sell. He had taken it to every connoisseur of its kind, "no money Pan Schrecker" " a shame, such a cute one you have there today Otto" "weak kidneys on the last one Otto, not today!".

So he took out the ball of cooking twine, cut and twisted half a metre and tied the wretched thing to his old army ruck sack. Ah the army, the empire! All gone now. And who knew what was coming next? Lumbago, gout, simple-mindedness: surely the army still had all his old ailments on its records? Could he be sure?

Schrecker crossed the old square, half slipping on the older stones. He had misplaced his identity papers in the reference material on his desk, but was too shy to ask his landlady if she had found it in her tidying.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

"things that never happened" 001/01

Night sweat dewed on the walls of the once-was warehouse. My unbrushed teeth rotted gradually, my tongue tasted our dancing anticipation and her dollar shop candles, ancient and industrial volatiles mixing in the 2.30 street-light.

There was no way this was going to have a happy ending. Years of drinking together had made "just fucking with you" our special sign off. "Thanks for the lift" "You're driving me aren't you" "Just fucking with you". "At least you can dance" "Did you see me nearly break that girl's ankle" "Yeah - just fucking with you". "Your eyes are shining" "It's called glassy: glazed" "I think they're just... just fucking with you."

We poured tenth and twelfth mugs of now warm chardonnay; we propped side-by-side against her girlhood dresser, its poking cast iron knobs kept me up. My fingernails scraped her jeans.