Dream
Mr Jacobson has completed the terms of his stay. 'Howard,' I say, 'It has been a pleasure as always.' I grip his hand, which isn't deep enough to allow a full grip, and we half embrace awkwardly and hold this stance for a while. 'For the duration of your stay I have been unique among my friends.' He is laughing at the book he has finished reading - his own - which he returns to me with a smile: 'What's wrong with Acor Weldis?' he quotes his narrator's words, and continues 'I prefer Oscar Wilde.' He smiles ruefully, and opens it to check for a signature. 'Why didn't you have him sign this one?' he asks. There are five or six worn paperbacks around. 'You know how it is. I wanted him particularly to sign this one, and he's a little bit - hooh hooh hooh - overbearing.' Jacobson nods and says 'I would have had him sign this, or this one is quite representative.' He seems to count 'The English' as one of his own. As we leave through the door I delay a second, and we agree I'll meet him downstairs.
They would praise me for the length and power of my jet. It would be unsatisfying to lower my aim into a bowl. I urinate the length of the bed, hitting the wall above the headboard and running the stream left to right. I correct the leftward curve. I am aware Mr J. is waiting downstairs, but will not rush this. I can hear my mother's voice. Eventually she says 'Okay, I'll get him' and then 'Goodbye'. She could be refering to another guest. I imagine catching up with him in the street - 'Howard!' - and then consider that I could show him to the station. I stem my urination. There are brown mums on the wallpaper. Using a small amount of toilet paper I dab it up, absorbing the wetness.
-
Earlier, I was stoned. Mike/my mum had gone elsewhere, and I piloted the car, as if with a joystick, without brakes, around corners almost around the block. I pulled in outside a fish and chip shop and walked back.
'I've moved your car' I tell mum.
Later when I descend the stairs, she has already retrieved the car. The keys or my jumper are now on the armchair.
My sister is sat. I tease her about her long term: 'Well, you'll have to phone me before February to September.' When I rephrase the joke she angers. 'Shut up!' My mum's face shows agreement.
Mr Jacobson has completed the terms of his stay. 'Howard,' I say, 'It has been a pleasure as always.' I grip his hand, which isn't deep enough to allow a full grip, and we half embrace awkwardly and hold this stance for a while. 'For the duration of your stay I have been unique among my friends.' He is laughing at the book he has finished reading - his own - which he returns to me with a smile: 'What's wrong with Acor Weldis?' he quotes his narrator's words, and continues 'I prefer Oscar Wilde.' He smiles ruefully, and opens it to check for a signature. 'Why didn't you have him sign this one?' he asks. There are five or six worn paperbacks around. 'You know how it is. I wanted him particularly to sign this one, and he's a little bit - hooh hooh hooh - overbearing.' Jacobson nods and says 'I would have had him sign this, or this one is quite representative.' He seems to count 'The English' as one of his own. As we leave through the door I delay a second, and we agree I'll meet him downstairs.
They would praise me for the length and power of my jet. It would be unsatisfying to lower my aim into a bowl. I urinate the length of the bed, hitting the wall above the headboard and running the stream left to right. I correct the leftward curve. I am aware Mr J. is waiting downstairs, but will not rush this. I can hear my mother's voice. Eventually she says 'Okay, I'll get him' and then 'Goodbye'. She could be refering to another guest. I imagine catching up with him in the street - 'Howard!' - and then consider that I could show him to the station. I stem my urination. There are brown mums on the wallpaper. Using a small amount of toilet paper I dab it up, absorbing the wetness.
-
Earlier, I was stoned. Mike/my mum had gone elsewhere, and I piloted the car, as if with a joystick, without brakes, around corners almost around the block. I pulled in outside a fish and chip shop and walked back.
'I've moved your car' I tell mum.
Later when I descend the stairs, she has already retrieved the car. The keys or my jumper are now on the armchair.
My sister is sat. I tease her about her long term: 'Well, you'll have to phone me before February to September.' When I rephrase the joke she angers. 'Shut up!' My mum's face shows agreement.
posted by Matt at 9:13 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home