There will be no blog today. Instead you will have a poem and a flash fiction.
Here is a poem.
Thompson barged into my room
without knocking, hasting through the doorway
directly into the wheelchair
I was using to air my clothes on.
He steadied himself and sucked a little
beer from his sleeve.
‘How do you clean a pan you’ve boiled an egg in?’
I looked up from Nicole Krauss lay on my bed,
shook my head and dove right back into her.
‘You going to the union tonight? Comedy night.’
He asked before sitting next to me
and reaching for my tobacco.
‘I have to finish reading this for the seminar tomorrow
so probably not.’
I was having one of my studious phases.
They don’t come around very often so
I try to make the most of them.
He rolled his cigarette and left
with brown tendrils stretching out
from its end.
Three hours later he barged in again,
once more hitting the wheelchair.
‘I cleaned that pan.’
‘She’ll be there tonight. That one off the T.V.
She’s quite good.’
I ignore this statement, leafing through the final pages of the
book. I have no idea if it was good but it
did make me want to go out.
‘OK, but if they’ve run out of stout I’m leaving.
She’s not that good.’
Thompson reaches for my tobacco again and hands me a beer in return.
‘Carla will be there too.’ He nods at me with a grin on his
face. He knows I know that I’ll get lucky if she’s there.
I decide to stay in.
Here is a flash fiction. It is another in the series of new ones I am trying to thread together. At the moment, I am trying to set up different characters and then weave a narrative in which they all play a part. There will be something grander overarching this but I do not want to give too much away at the moment, which is why I am not doing proper titles for anything.
Actually, it’s gotten a bit too late for that so we’ll just leave it here.