Friday, 11 February 2011


He was sitting on a wooden dining chair. He didnae look too good. He was sitting slightly apart from them. Someone asked him if he wanted a glass of water. He said that he didn't want anything. I was thinking that he should drink some water, or drink something. He didn't look very good at all.
Presently he came to speak. Someone asked him his name. He told us his name. Someone asked him how he had ended up here. He wasn't sure. It seemed he didn't know anyone here. They wanted him to leave. For my part I didn't mind, I didn't care what he did. He seemed okay to me.


He had set up a shared database with instructions that she should make notes on her every infidelity and upload them. Detailed annotations were heavily encouraged. He would check it every few weeks or so, preferably on an overcast weekday afternoon.


The snide remark had been noted; she would reserve it now and it could not be retracted. She would harbour it alright. Now it would be all the quiet resentment she so relished. Learned indignation and pretended victimisation.
The exchange had been so subtle it was impossible for him to do anything to rectify the situation. Like apologise for instance. She would merely pretend an ignorance. It was a very clever technique and afforded her infinite opportunity for aloof indignation.
The dog was laying in the couch. It squinted its head at him as he walked past, wondering perhaps if it was time to go for a walk. He held its gaze for a moment and it swished its tail softly. It wasn't time to go for a walk.


He set the can of beer down. All this silly self-destruction. It was inane and there would be no fucking more of it. He would go out. He would take the dog out.
At that moment the dog padded through and gazed at him beseechingly, swishing its tail.
- What? What is it? You want to go out?
The dog leapt at him, its tail swishing vigorously now. He went to the porch and put on his boots, fetched the dog's lead.
It was a cold day but clear and sunny. The ground was still damp from a previous rainfall. The dog ran on ahead, grinning wildly. He followed it down into the woods where it retrieved a stick and tried to bring it to him. He jumped back, conscious of the fact he was wearing his good jeans which he intended to wear later when he went out.
- Get away frae me! he squealed, flapping his hands in a decidedly pantomimic manner. Any observers might conclude that he was deranged.
He was going out tonight to meet Laura and he didn't want to show up pished, wearing muddy jeans. Fuck sake. One needs to maintain a presentable appearance in terms of both dress and mental co- what was the word, cohesion? I mean he wanted to seem like he was with it, not pished out his skull like some feckless tragedy.
The dog returned with another stick and he ushered it away again. Fuck sake. The dog was determined to foil his attempts to maintain a presentable appearance. Maybe the dog was jealous of Laura, of the time he spent with her and no with the dog. That was one line of speculation. A fairly preposterous one albeit.
They came to a bridge. A small one, but bridges perturbed the dog whatever their size. This one granted safe passage across a burn that was particularly wild today following all the recent rainfall. The dog gingerly made its way across, tentative bastard. And of course at the other side it wanted to be petted and reassured. He stepped back to the middle of the bridge, urging the dog away.
- Beat it ya radge, he suggested. Go on, go, look, see over there. He pointed vaguely behind the dog and it spun around to see what phenomenon it was being urged to regard.
Follow @dharma_ass