It's 4am and John has not come home. All there is, is a garbled message on the phone, half in John's voice and half in Brian's, with others shouting over laughing at my ways and calling me a 'freak'. From what I can make out they are all shacked up in a hotel room somewhere and are all drunk or stoned or on whatever it is people take who enjoy having bad sex and regrets.

Though I don't care, though John can go to hell, though I'm not affected at all, I'm still sitting here sobbing my heart out as the message rewinds and plays, rewinds and plays, rewinds and plays.

That cannot be John, I keep telling myself... this cannot be me. I've never been life's friend, but this unrelenting battering is a punishment I neither asked for nor deserve. And I'm not even talking about tonight, I'm talking about this whole rotten saga... this fucking slice of shit pie that just keeps getting bigger and thicker and shittier.

This morning, six days from my thirty second birthday and at least one third dead, I'm about as poor as any man can be: 78kgs of body weight but not the rope to hang it from. No-one can tell me that that isn't poverty.


  1. Poor Tristram ... For once I do not know what to say or how to comfort you, I have the perfect card here I bought for a girlfriend thats just says "Dump him" on the front.. but I know you wont xx

  2. I think you should get Verity to stay with you for a while - as a sort of witness as well as equivalent of Brian, if you know what I mean. It being two to one and all.

  3. Wildernesscic: I hear you. I think after my birthday John will be returning to the Loony bin. X

    Abigail: That may happen. She's here now and I don't really want her to leave. X

  4. Aleister Lee DeVille said...
    'and are all drunk or stoned or on whatever it is people take who enjoy having bad sex and regrets.'

    chaos into order
    order into chaos.chaos into order


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