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Array
(
[sid] => 5288
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => two is company
[time] => 2002-10-19 07:45:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Two Is Company
The pub had shut long ago by its entrance a curious smell of beer, tobacco and disinfectant lingered. A steady insipid drizzle hazed sepia streetlight into a liquid mist, the scene had the feel of a third rate seaside resort in November. Everything closed, no late café where I could pretend to eat and drink wine. I had to go back onboard my ship read a book and try to sleep. The thought of that was so overwhelmingly boring that I felt suicidal. She was standing in a newsagent’s doorway smelling of whisky, damp hair and fags. “ Woodbine the great little cigarette” a sign behind her proclaimed, the letters were faded blue and they didn’t sell this brand anymore. “Know of a place were I can get a drink?” “Sure at my house but you have to pay.”“ “Sure baby” We watched telly drank whisky and lulled our brains into silence, when the bottle was empty went to bed, made love and I thought she was wonderful. When I awoke it was still dark but a new day had made its threatening presence felt, she woke too looked twice my age, had been crying black tears and had the shakes badly. She got up to make tea and I could hear her taking a new bottle out of the cupboard and drinking from it, then she went into the loo. Feeling wretched by this new reality I got up too and had a hefty slug of the bottle. She offered to make me some toast but I wasn’t hungry. “Have drink before you go” “Yeah, ok”. We had several and ended up in bed again. It was late afternoon when I got down to the docks, my ship had gone, and it was getting dark. The insipid drizzle continued. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 171 [topic] => 22 [informant] => Jan_Oskar_Hansen [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 1 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove )
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