G, overwound like a clockwork toy by his now ex-girlfriend's pathetic recriminations, finally ran out of drunken energy at four o clock in the morning, and slumped against the cooker he'd been pounding with bruised knuckles for ten minutes. i'd been patching him up with lint all night like a rusty boat continually springing leaks, as he encountered successive unforgiving surfaces. Relieved to see the unhappiness lift from his shoulders, i indulged his evident desire to knock empty bottles over as his face tracked a greasy path down the oven door. i sipped some of the champagne - last glass - which had miraculously materialised in our kitchen. i had a horribile feeling of having completely missed the point with G, but no idea how. i lolled back in my chair, and knocked a bottle of whisky onto the cork tiling of the kitchen floor, where its contents lazily spread themselves out in an ugly pool. A hand twitch was the best movement i could muster to right the bottle, so i just watched it all pour out, until the level fell below the neck of the bottle. My gaze stayed on it for a long time, until i could bring myself to allow my eyes to be assaulted by the bright yellow walls again, but in looking up i thought i saw a movement in the corner of my eye as of a small piece of paper falling from the tiled edge of the counter, and in sharply turning my head nearly made myself throw up. Recovered, i took a drunkenly verbose turn, and addressed the room, empty now bar me and the prostrate G. "The rotten stench of aboulia hangs in the air for the mind to sense, our winding down lives running their youthul course and existing only in a kind of violent indolence, as self-perpetuating as it is destructive for the shell it inhabits." Losing my thread, i stared contemplatively at the welling mouth of a dripping tap for several minutes, and then admitted defeat, concluding with a toast, "To us", and draining my drink. G belched contentedly, and i considered waking him up so we could two step around the kitchen, but instead picked a two pence piece off the table, flipped and called it: "heads you win, tails you lose." It bounced on the table and rolled off, much to my frustration. Getting down unsteadily onto hands and knees to look for the errant coin, i wondered to myself why it was that i was so rooting for the result to be tails, on this gamble for my life. Tails you lose, so you might as well give up trying. You need not even blame yourself - fate is the culprit. How compelling. I gave up on the coin, and looked at G, trying not to recall how he looked bawling into my knee, slumped against the wall earlier on that evening.
i put away the tequila
and the triple jd and coke at the bar, then wandered back towards
the dancefloor with my fortified pint, buzzing punters causing
me to spill approximately half of it en route. i sought refuge
by the wall, and put the poor quality of the music out of my mind.
My priorities were straight, music could be endured. Forgetting
to finish the drink, i affected a walk that was not my own and
advanced on the grinding throng, breaking into a procession of
sweaty faces as i pushed my way through. Choosing a patch of sufficiently
neutral ground, i exercised my considerable skill as a mimic,
my dancing being simply a synthesis of all that exhibited around
me. i soon spotted a nice body saying the right things, and started
sweet-talking, a process i repeat over and over again, until eventually
it pays off. which at this point it did.
i was so eager to get her clothes off that she was naked before
i had lost any clothing. i could feel myself losing my nerve,
and knew i needed to work fast. My appetite for meaningless sex
is inconstant. i kissed her on the cheek, stupidly, but she was
as drunk as me and didn't notice the incongruity. She pulled clumsily
at my shirt while i undid my trousers, and half-fell in the pitch-blackness
of her room, her breasts pressing against my stomach. It felt
strange and not at all sexual. We made it to her bed and celebrated
the death of the human soul inexpertly. Somehow my face ended
up in her armpit, the smell of salt mixing with that of her perfume,
and her arm probably helped me in my failure to realise that i
was having sex with G's ex-girlfriend.
