I was up all night snorting speed with an ex con, poor man’s coke he called it, in his basement flat next to the main road, where petrol fumes made up 50% of the air and where the brown river fudged along like a worm that couldn’t be bothered. He taught me how to play chess, the prison way and We talked about the rusty banana bridge opposite, people sometimes hung themselves there desperate souls who found no beauty in life. Our monkey faces stared back as he raked out another line on the mirror, like some weird zen garden and I thought yeah it’s easy to lose time in a place like this. The hairy guy sitting opposite - he could be a monk except that I heard he lived with six rats in one room where he never opened the curtains. Imagine that. I watched as a blim fell from his spliff burning another pothole in the carpet and I wished I was far away.
A film in the making .....I like the Zen garden raked on the mirror .
Top hole Marc .
thanks Jane. A film of my life.... a tragedy? A disaster movie...?