#197

It was in the early hours when Miss Sedgewick dropped me off at the top of the road. The street was deadly hushed and save from the occasional light from a television the houses were just blocks with black rectangles in them.

I noticed from way of that my front door was ajar. At first I cursed the police for not even bothering to have pulled it close, and then kinda felt lucky because in the hive of activity that was my arrest I had been taken without even having chance to grab my keys. I suppose they didn't think I'd be coming back. I pushed the door open and a cat came wandering out with her tail raised like them things on the back of dodgem cars. She made a sound and the sound made the night seem like magic.

Though the apartment was dark I could still see the smoke. Light, clear stuff, like the smoke John used to blow out and which gave me headaches through the night. The smell was also the same. The music I only picked up on after, very quiet 1930's stuff which sounded like it was being piped in from another reality. It somehow reminded me of a depression I never knew. I followed the music down the hall to the living room, and on pushing the door open I discovered the Garbo Tranny sitting in the green armchair with a little night radio on his lap and a lonely bottle of gin down low. He was smoking and seemed to be in some kind of a trance, his eyes closed and swaying away to the saddest song in the world. “Tristram,” he said, his eyes still closed, “I didn't think we'd be seeing you in a while.”

It turned out that the Garbo Tranny had heard Brian breaking open the front door and had stopped him from entering the apartment. Brian claimed he was there to find John, that he knew he was somewhere in the apartment and needed to say goodbye before he could “resolve the issue” and get on with his new job that was all the way out in Milton Keynes.

“So he didn't manage to get in at all?” I asked
“No, I stopped him and then he tried again later and so I decided to keep vigil over the place until the locksmiths come tomorrow.... well, me and our poor little friend here.”
I followed his finger which was pointing over at Jaws whose bowl was down on the floor amongst all the wreckage.
“He's called Jaws,” I said, “I think he's dying.”

The Garbo Tranny whipped his long cigarette holder from his lips, opened his eyes, and looking at me said: “Ain't we all, Darling... ain't we all just doing that.”