- Thu Jul 21, 2016 8:43 pm
Nobody in their right might would have thought the lemon peeler to have remained at the scene…"have no interest in a Barton St. repose, for that matter, it will give that Flexcut shite a run for its' money matey…might even regain some of that former glory--you know, when I won that medal--and whittle myself up a fancy trompe l'oeil frame or some shit."
"It will warp," I thought to myself, but imagined with ball-bouncing delight the day of his anagnorisis.
I have an eye for error, though I don't carve myself…"ogee" you said, "yeah…ooohhh-geeeeee, fucked it up again" I say.
Euripides himself would be delighted…
I didn't bother looking back at the crowd that was beginning to gather after the dust-up at the Cork, I had unfinished business myself after all. We had decided earlier that year to leave CREW to their unctuous disposition. Cha d’dhùin doras nach d’fhosgail doras.
We walked through the damp, darkness with intent, while on the horizon the coke push painted the sky with its' red-orange glow.
I feel Shonneys' hard stare falling on the side of my face…"and?" I said, without looking at him, "you know damn well I have a mind to fix that miserable Velcro-strapped-shoe cunt and his Unicorn Brony sidekick…"
"Could never figure out their disconsolate twist" you said…
"And it's our job to provide the salve for their childish inadequacies and self-loathing!!!??? Surely you jest?" I bellowed.
"There isn't enough heron in the world to palliate this. And for that matter, never found myself in the thrall of those autoerotic clever cunts…clever is worth a ha'penny…"
"There's a little diner on Victoria North we can detour for a coffee…give me a chance to wash the remaining blood from my hands" you say as a matter of course.
"Yeah, I know it…it's where my dad and used to stop for our morning before work…that was the time of my life, with the old sailor…"
"By the way" you continue, "you picked up your post recently?"
I just looked down at my boots…diversion…"I'm stitching velum…and balancing morphine."
"I should have been killed at the Riverside that night when the Iron Hogs came in to mete out some revenge…but you and I have an uncanny mastery staying out of nick Shonney. Crowbar, Riverside, Pump, the Gown, the Cork…a fine lexicon…n'est pas?"
"Books lead to more books see, fine velum stitched together like an undoing, illuminated codex…the only book we will never read is the elegy to our mis-adventures…so you see, no such thing as a last job…it's all a piss up, and south of the border their house is burning (again) and they bring water pistols…"
He's silent for a moment, as I hand him a fag, my gaze still on the horizon…Shonney produces a pack of matches, this time with a reproduction of Boticelli's La Prima Vera on one side and an advertisement for grow your own sea monkeys on the obverse. He's a pisser for sure. "Hmmmm" he remarks, "birds of a feather mate, lets peel us some lemons and limes."
"Ants" I say…
We walk the railroad tracks…Tuscany drifting through our thoughts…back through Gage, and we're all in.
"So it's spalt…all the way down then" you say with a twinkle in your eye…
Last edited by FormerlyChaseChrome on Sat Jul 23, 2016 10:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.