Tuesday, 21 December 2010

The Inscrutability of Certain Observed Participants

She arrived at the bar early but didn’t order a drink, she took a seat near the window and settled in to wait. Presently a young man appeared and asked her to confirm her name and the name of the man she was waiting for. She did this.
“He’s not coming… he sent me in his place,” the man explained with an enigmatic grin.
“You’re gay,” she told the man. She stood up and they left the bar together. They walked quickly and then simultaneously broke into a run, neither speaking. The woman was giggling, the man breathing deeply.

James Kelman was sitting on a park bench somewhere in Edinburgh, wearing dark shades and sipping carefully from a can of Coca Cola. He cackled suddenly for no discernible reason, spluttering coke onto his jeans. Next thing David Keenan came dancing past, a silly gleam in his eyes.
“Ya demented cunt,” giggled James Kelman. He scratched the stubble on his cheek. Keenan groaned and then farted.

“Sad to see it go. My libido that is. Ach well, we had a good run, aye, so we did.” The auld yin took a long sip on his pint then.
“You just made me waste all this money!” screamed the neurotic teenage art student, dragging her frail fingers through her straggly blonde hair.

Around dusk the swimming pool was quiet, there were no sounds except the ambient noise of insects stationed in nearby shrubbery. It was quite incredible. The sky was smudged with oranges and mauves, it was quite devastating.
He awoke. His sores throbbed. Night had fallen. Dogs barked in the distance, the sound echoed. He felt as if he hadn’t slept. The weight of everything. He was exhausted.

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