Damp Sun-day

Sunday afternoon. Really feels like the morning though. Woke up and had pains in the back of the head, chest, arm, elbow and ankle. Where they come from is anyone’s guess.
My girlfriends mother was talking on the answerphone. There I am in bed wondering where this voice is coming from.

* * *

Drank a strong paracetamol mixed with some pain killers.
Dandy.
Things better now.
Although I’m missing Columbo. Sunday without Columbo is like rolly without a Rizla.
The wind is getting up.
Imagine all the cats are indoors. Those that aren’t probably stuck to cars, the sides of houses and walls miles away from home.
Save the owner a few pence on whiskas.
Well, we are in a recession; every little helps.

* * *

Sunday limbo.
Nothing like it. A rare quiet.
And no, I don’t mean church.

* * *

Paintings slowly rotting in a damp basement.

Our Friend is Dead

His mouth tries to carve the words into the air between us. Though mute, I still understand him. He pushes a peanut around. It looks like a tiny, shiny distorted skull. Salt crystals gather at the end of his fingers; some fall upon the wooden table top.
Behind his eyes, a process of decoding. Working out what has happened.
I take his hand and close my fingers around it. He looks up at me, startled; lost in space and just barely able to recognise my face.
Then, a smile.
Out on the bay, a few boats return from the channel with empty nets.
He covers his eyes with his free hand, and cries quietly and steadily.
The sun doesn’t know. The sea is indifferent.
Our friend is dead.

Telephone Book

Three times in a week?
That’s the truth of it though, I can’t lie. He’d been in the area for a while, that I knew. Never thought he’d contact me again, especially not in the way he did.
Where was I?
Think it had something to do with an underground room, I can’t be sure. Recently, my memory hasn’t been all that.
I’d set up a glass of water and a nasal spray, just in case. Decided I’d ring them, let them know what was happening. Then I decided not to. Then I thought, well; better just to get it over with. Had to happen at some point. Now was that point.
Looked around the room for a telephone book. Didn’t have their number; in all likelihood, it had been changed many times over the years.
Looked about the room for the telephone book. Then there he was. An old finger pointed towards a bookshelf with the directory on it.
I blinked.
It started to rain.
I wasn’t sure if it was even him.