Imagine, if you will…all the people standing there like statues at a dance.
Then the music comes back on and the party continues. Somewhere else without me.
Once upon a time I was wandering the rooms of a house where I used to live where I came across a strange fellow who wanted to play me all the records in his music collection. I acquiesced to his request and soon was listening to music ten hours a day for not any particular reason other than it was good music and worth listening to. All the time he sat by my side.
I grew fond of the fellow and soon we were BFF’s of the unshaven farting variety but I got the feeling that the feeling was mutual as we began socialising outside of this house we lived in.
We went to pubs and clubs, shops and galleries too if you count his friends house which was decorated by I might say his friends mum and father who was gay apparently in a style not uncommon in fine art magazines the world over.
I was quite happy and content to meet such people and to socialise but forever there was a sense of doom. Doom hanging over me and my failed attempts at rebooting my education in my mid thirties. Doom in that I couldn’t see that the local authority would pay for me to live in more than one bedsitting room.
Doom in that it always felt that hammer would fall on my hed precisely splitting it in two like melon.
All that came to pass in the end was a fist fight, started by my erstwhile friend who upset at being not invited to dinner did take it upon himself to wreck my room, computer cat litter tray and everything.
The mutual music listening came to an end and I buggered off to Paris.
Certain parts of this story have been omitted to allow for brevity and flow.