At that stage we were in a park, or a lot. We’d left the car around the corner. We were so many. We were manky. Our clothes were damp and smelled awful. I was in the car, and around the corner, to the left, everyone is taking care of themselves. I take after my father, which is why I decided to take the car. I’m rude to people because, apart from being polite, it’s the only way to get what you need. I thought: I will wash the car by hand, and by the time I did that, everyone had left. I woke in hot and cold sweats, sweet and sour pork. But why? Because while everyone else was leaving, I was climbing a tree. They will never find me, which makes me tense. Because I am like my father I am terse. I told Siobhan I’d be there soonish, which is neither here nor there. Would that we could don’t you think we’d have done it? Sian had been in the car when they’d taken it away. We staged a reenactment despite having to play the police. We paid them to do it again and mouthed 90s pop songs. I kicked the door, it starting raining buckets and Jane called a press conference. I had run out of time so I couldn’t stay. Instead, I moved down the street, and three days later the phone dropped out. The pressure eased, and a cruiser descended on the town. I decided to get out of the water and called Siobhan. She couldn’t talk. We broke up for a moment. We were known. Bradley shot a gun once in a tunnel, but we’ve always been separare. I pulled a bone out of a joint. Pop. Wham. I asked the police if I could speak with Katherine, but she was smacked out on methadone. It was the second time they’d been called out in a week, but nothing seemed to happen. I threw steam out of my nose. They would tell me nothing though. I was taken through to the pep room. I felt sick, so they brought me a Seltzer water and some Pfeffernüße, and I went back to my room, which was spacious enough. I shook my hand, which wasn’t helpful at all. There was enough. I shook my hand, which wasn’t helpful at all. There was nothing left by the time I finished. Overall it was cold. I sped my breathing. I punch the wall, and took up my father.

This entry was posted in condiments, naming, poetry, prose/, repetition. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s