Temp

10 minutes late, is he trying to come the cunt? Relax man, you're hardly the most outstanding proponent of punctuality – you've executed some of the most appalling breaches of social etiquette with regard to arriving on time. Aye, I suppose that's accurate, just linger here at the bar a while longer and sip your pint. Let the bored bar staff study you and surmise your story, no, don't let that irk you. Move away from the hatch a wee bit. They're overstaffed and moving in and out of there quickly to attend to the most trivial of clean-ups. Pint glasses must be washed and refilled, the cycle perpetuated. It helps us think, after all. Ah, the clarity of a few pints!

Quarter past, where is the cunt! This really is unacceptable, one is tempted to finish one's pint and absent oneself from the premises. A warm cheerio. More than halfway through the bloody pint now. He'll be here any moment. Forget about the fact that one's presence standing at the bar somehow encumbers the bar staff and makes them feel exhausted and disdainful. I'm sure it doesn't anyway. Weird cunts that work in here by the way. A passive aggressive hostility is inferred. He'll be here, he'll be here. Where the hell is he then? A plausible explanation for being held up I'm sure, come on you miserable bastard don't jump to conclusions, he's coming he's coming. He's not coming. God it's hot in here. Why do they have the fire and the ceiling fan on. One removes one's jacket and hangs it on the underside of the overhanging bartop. A most efficient and excellent way to quickly achieve optimal comfort.

All available space feels occupied, it's okay, one enjoys one's vantage at the bar, oversees the patrons lost in vast conversations. 15 minutes now that's okay, no need to foster the countenance of a doss bastard at this juncture.

Consensus of Faux Awe Achieved Through Hostile Pantomime

It was whilst frolicking in the Misty Gardens of Wan Mirth that I happened to encounter it, it being a disagreeably effete, bespectacled creature which pranced around hypnotically, its curious and androgynous eyes checking to see that I was observing it, pantomiming an expression of awe for me to feel obliged to mirror so that some kind of consensus that something spectacular was taking place might occur. I grimaced, looked away, and farted silently. The creature, which seemed somehow nervously sedate, continued to cavort and dance around me, behaviour which struck me as being unpalatable in the extreme. I demonstrated my disdain by wincing, snapping my fingers, and jerking my head in a series of admittedly bizarre movements. I had the feeling that the creatures' ritual was transforming in infinitesimal increments, at such a ponderous rate that the changed nuances couldn't quite be observed; instead the overall feeling conveyed to me by this creature's startling behaviour altered from one of gruesome allure to one of seething hostility. It was at this moment that I allowed myself to feel panic and emit a drawn-out scream which the creature duly mimicked with eerie accuracy, standing at a 90 degree angle to me all the while. The initial panic having subsided, I began to experience a feeling of monstrous elation and horrendous joy. I allowed the scream to flow out of me with a sense of relief akin to the relief afforded by urine vacating one's penis or excrement exiting one's anus or semen erupting from one's excited penis. The creature held my arms at the elbows and I did likewise with it as we howled euphorically into one another's faces.

A Snapshot of the Russell Athletic Brand Ambassador

He was wearing his mauve Russell Athletic jogging bottoms with black and white Reebok basketball trainers. His jacket positively billowed over his gaunt frame. He wore sunglasses and grinned serenely. They'd told him he mustn't smile too much, they'd warned him against it. Such behaviour wasn't becoming of a Russell Athletic brand ambassador. A pensive, sombre demeanour was to be preferred.
A couple at the next table were having a discussion about an absent third party, someone the woman kept referring to as being "manically depressed."
Outside, a bald man in a puffy jacket was smoking a cigarette whilst studying and tapping the screen of his phone. A bored looking dog languished on the step, swishing its tail. Two stern looking lesbians with cropped haircuts and tweed jackets sauntered past. The afternoon was cold and clear. The Russell Athletic brand ambassador walked down Leith Walk, immersed in the flow of pedestrians. The unfathomable night gardens of Edinburgh were accessible to him in that moment.

Absence from the Table

It sometimes occurs that I am absent from the table. In such instances I can invariably be found on the balcony or in the attic. It isn't often that I am in the woods. At night I am frequently absent from the table, especially when other bodies are present at it. In such instances, communication can be achieved via exasperated shouting between floors.

I open a book, scan a few lines, then resignedly replace the bookmark and set the damn thing down.

I hallucinated that I was a TV newsreader. I recorded a segment and then watched the footage on TV that same night, awestruck. I marvelled at the fact that old acquaintances would glimpse me on a televised news programme.

It often occurs that I am absent from my life. Severe amnesia and emotional detachment and severe disassociation compromise my ability to interact with phenomenon such as objects or people.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he laughed exasperatedly.

Configuration of the Counterfeit Jonathan Marks

"An abuse is occurring," howled the gaunt, white faced boy.
"Who is conducting this abuse?" queried Jonathan, smiling autistically.
"It's occurring near the grey coast," replied the boy.
Jonathan's smile did not falter nor did his facial expression in any way alter. He stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed at a 90 degree angle to where the boy's gaze was aimed.

One behaves oneself for the pantomime doesn't one now. The musk of the lobby in all its exciting dimness. How dreadfully exciting it all is! Father frolics in sad, misty gardens at dawn, damp-eyed, yawning into his Weetabix in slow motion. Chaffed thighs, empty plastic Pepsi bottles, a visit to the woods. An unfathomably sad Edinburgh garden. Ejaculate is not recommended as a salve for a grazed knee. A pile of smouldering universe.

"Is that guy dizzy?"
"Which guy?"
"That guy over there. He looks dizzy."
"I don't know who you mean."
"..."
"Look, don't get exasperated. I'm not sure who you're referring to."
"The guy with the weird spectacles."
"Oh, that guy."
"Aye, him. Is he dizzy or no?"
"How did you arrive at that impression? The reason I ask is that he doesn't seem to me to be dizzy at all."
"I'm talking about the balding guy."
"Oh, him. Yes, he does seem rather dizzy, doesn't he?"

FIN
(rapturous applause)