The only time I climbed in through an upstairs window from a ladder in this life was when I got a call from somebody saying she was going to commit suicide. I thought I’d better drive out there and check. Fortunately, there was a window cleaner in the vicinity, so I borrowed his ladder to get in. She’d taken an overdose, but it wasn’t serious. A few days in hospital and she was fine again.
I’m in the mood to elope with somebody tonight, actually, but she’s too far away and I doubt she’d appreciate the gesture anyway. I expect she would pour boiling oil on my head and call the police. Or even the cops. I think romance is dead, in more ways than one.
--------------------------------------
Do you know what one of my greatest pleasures is? Sometimes when I listen to certain pieces of music, I get really clear pictures of dancers in my head. Irish ones, usually. Not that they’re necessarily doing Irish dancing, but they look Irish. Women with raven hair, azure eyes, and fiercely challenging faces. The Gaelic goddess type that you see a lot of on the internet.
This is a stream of consciousness post...
Or it could be a three double scotches one.
Same thing, really.
No comments:
Post a Comment