Monday, 30 March 2009

Poem about Brighton

It turned out to be a weekend where I scaled some new highs and descended to some new lows. Oftentimes it wisnae aye easy ti tell which was which. Examples: handing a cassette tape to Thurston Moore, dancing on tables, shitting in doorways. The moments that should have been glorious were mortifying and vice versa.
And then there was Leslie. Screaming after her in the night street. And Byron. Providing him with a beer and a cigarette, listening to his discourse on US foreign policy. And there was also the comedic antics of my pal David to help stave off existential weariness.

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