Mad Dogs Two
Yes, there is a sequel to Mad Dogs and Irishmen. Due to many revisions to the original story, it's also undergoing some changes at the moment. Here's a little sneak-peek at the prologue:
“Okay—I’ve weed on the stick,” I shout through the closed bathroom door. “Come on in.” My stomach feels like it’s in backwards.
He opens the door, slowly—painfully slowly it seems. It makes this awful haunted-house creaking noise that I can feel way down deep in my eardrums.
“God, I’ll have to put somethin’ on that for you. That racket would wake the dead.”
“Wouldn’t it though,” I agree. We can’t even make eye contact we’re so nervous. I almost wish I was doing this on my own, but it didn’t seem fair to shut him out. I’ve already been through this before, very alone that time, and it didn’t seem as stressful somehow. Last time I was sure it would be negative. This time I’m almost sure it won’t be. Last time I was wrong.
He sits on the edge of the tub, pulls me over to him to stand between his knees, and starts to rub my back in a way that I’m sure is supposed to be supportive and reassuring. It almost works. I lean over and rest my cheek on the top of his head.
“I think I might paint in here again. What do you think?” Jeez. What a brilliant time to be discussing decorating, Sam.
“Sure, it looks grand to me the way it is. What color do you want to paint it?”
“I was thinking of a sort of lime and yellow theme.”
I can feel him making a face. “You mean, lime green?”
“Well, how many other colors do limes come in? You don’t like lime green?”
“Sam, I don’t really give a bollox. I only come in here to take a piss or a shower or shave myself once in a while. It’s your bloody bathroom. Paint it in zebra stripes if you like.”
“Then I’m going to paint it lime green.”
There’s a momentary lull in this fascinating conversation.
“So— how long do we have to wait?” he asks me then.
I’ve been holding the stick behind my back, too scared to look. Not sure exactly which color I’m more scared of seeing when I do get the nerve to look at it. My thoughts are all scrambled up like white noise in my head.
“It should be ready now. Here— you look, I can’t.” I close my eyes and bring the thing out in front of me.
“Sam, open your eyes,” Danny tells me.
|Home|Dyke Duffy|Killarmon Stuff|Horatio Hornblower|Bits and Pieces|My Weird Life|Links|