Saturday, 8 February 2014

Even Smiling Makes My Face Ache

He was bankrupt in seven dimensions and 
having nothing better to do of a wednesday
I offered him shelter from hungry and vengeful 
creditors. He'd been financing an insurgency -
on the astral plane, dear boy, where the final
battle will resolve itself and I will free mankind 
of all tyrannies, spiritual, existential, benign or
otherwise, as foretold by ancient prophecy and 
tv guides. I said yeah, but look here at these 
faucets in the shower. They're fiddly, you hear me? 
Fiddly, and they must be fiddled in the manner
of a safecracker in order to achieve correct 
tem-per-ah-ture - oh, and you'll be sleeping
on the couch. He thanked me for my hospitality 
and for taking such an enormous risk, dear 
boy. I told him that I liked to live, as they say,
on the edge, and that really it was nothing; later 
that night I crept downstairs and phoned it in
The look in his eyes as they dragged him off in
manacles delights me to this day, and though
it's been close I have never since felt so
free.

No comments:

Post a Comment