The Inhumanity Of The Manatee

He was into manatees and they were going out.
He had an interest in them, she wasn't sure she even knew what one looked like. But they started going out and she liked him so she made an effort to like them.
Then they had a little ornamental manatee sitting in the living room. She put up with it. She put up with it because she liked him.
It sat there until they broke up.
When she left, she took the little ornamental manatee with her.
She took it because, although she still didn't like manatees, now she disliked him even more.
Go figure.

Date

She worked with crazy people so I thought maybe she was what I needed.
Those were her words, she was young and tough, she used them ironically, as a way of coping. She worked with bipolars, schizophrenics, sociopaths, and she was on a date with me.
Now, overall, I think I'm OK. Sure I get dark patches but, in fact, I often feel like the sanest person in the room. I watch the lunacy all around me on a daily basis and think that either I just don’t get it because I'm sane, or that I must be crazy because I’m the one who just doesn’t get it.
So I wanted to ask her about it, to get her view on things, to see what her take on it was.
I was planning my question when she turned to me and said, "I think I should date someone my own age."
I looked at her and thought Well that’s just crazy.

Nasty, Brutish and Short

Sex, Drugs & Sausage Roll

He was a work contact. We'd sit across executive maple tables and talk about synergies, being on the same page, and moving forward. We'd be two businessmen talking business. We'd talk about it as if it was life and death.
So he called me. We talked shop and then he said, "I'm playing tonight."
"Playing what?" I asked.
"Playing in my band. Do you wanna come?"
"Sure," I said.
It was rock. They played covers, classic rock covers, and the pub swayed. He sat behind his drums and played like no one was watching. He beat and sweated and let go. The beer belly, the deadlines, the washing up, they all disappeared. This was his escape, his way to get by.
I was envious.
Having said that, they did murder Smoke on the Water so maybe it would be better to just stick to the day job.

Champagne Supernova

She casually removed a champagne cork from her handbag.
"That's very rock 'n' roll," I said.
"Actually, it was just cava," she said.
"In that case, it's very pop music."
She looked at me. "Wow, I've fallen so fast from the sublime to the ridiculous."
She placed the cork on the table. All those dates and here, in the corner of some bland pub, hidden in a group of people, was someone who made me go Boom. We had talked about travel and work and writing. But we weren't interested in travel and work and writing, that wasn't what we really had been talking about.
"I don't get it," said her boyfriend, "why is it like pop music?"
I looked at her. She looked at him then down at her shoes. I looked away and chewed my lower lip.
From the the sublime to the ridiculous indeed. On the way home, I smashed my fist into a wall and wished a plague of locusts on his house.

The Big Smoke

It was bank holiday and I was alone and bored. I decided to go for a walk. I headed up to the park. It was breezy and the sun was trying to break through. People still sat on the grass, regardless, hopeful and determined. They read, they ate, they played football, they kissed.
I wandered over to Speakers' Corner. People gathered in little groups. Someone attacking Israel. Someone defending Israel. Someone pushing Jesus. Someone holding up a sign saying Don't Believe Anyone Including Me. I wanted to believe him but couldn't. Then I took a peek at Oxford Street but couldn't bring myself to walk it. It made me sad and angry.
I hopped on a bus, swept down Park Lane, around Buckingham Palace, past Victoria, and jumped off at the river. Big Ben struck three. I watched the surface of the Thames for a while, the boats, the ducks, the gulls. Then I wandered along, under the lazy Eye, past living statues and break dancers and busking musicians. To the South Bank where I perused the second hand book stalls. And where I watched skateboarders hop, jump and flip through the air, weightless, riding invisible currents.
I meandered. Charing Cross Bridge. Trafalgar Square (an Indian concert in full flow). Piccadilly Circus. A coffee and a muffin in Soho. Bus ride up to Camden Town. Beer near the canal. A friend came out. More beers. The top of the Hawley Arms. Feeling old. More beers. The clarity that comes from the fog...
Home.
Shit day.