I’m sorry, I don’t normally talk like that;
I might think it sometimes in a moment of wild rage but the feeling passes
quickly. I’ve had time to calm down, I’ve had a coffee so my system is alive
and I had a shower. Not in that order if I’m precise, but if you want precise
you should read a dictionary.
In the shower I used the green citrus and ginger
body scrub – I’ve no idea who left that there, maybe Sarah – and boy does that
wake you up. A dab in the genital area and I feel more excitement than I have
for a long time, ever since Marty died. We’ll get to that in time. Right now
I’m on the train heading for the coast and I have one hour to fill you in.
I live in the city, have done so all my
life but my dream has me being able to see the sea from my front step. I don’t
have the sea in the city, I don’t even have a front step. My flat is on the
third floor and the step belongs to Maude the old woman who lives on the ground
floor. She’s not the owner of course; she never owned anything in her life
except the piano in the front room. She can’t paly it mind, and she certainly
can’t sing but last night – the same as every Saturday night – she comes in
drunk and starts singing like there is no tomorrow. Which is what it feels like
if you are trying to sleep.
The Irish lads in the middle flat call it raucous
and roll and it just about sums it up. They don’t care anyhow, they drink
themselves into a stupor every night and sleep ‘till the foreman bangs on the
door to take them to the building site.
And that leaves me the top floor.
I can see the park from my window, if I
stand on the bannisters and use a mirror; I guess an estate agent would
describe it as ‘overlooking an environmental oasis’. I don’t know about that
but I saw a hedgehog in there once, and someone was trying to feed it dog food.
It probably ended up murdered too.....
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