Friday, November 12, 2004

Washroom

There were three of them, so he tried the middle one for fun and it came out blood. He went on rubbing his hands under it mechanically, trying to wash itself off as it dried hard and shiny.

I thought it might be soap! he protested.

He woke up and Freuded it as he drifted in bed. Just a silly pun, following on from that conversation about whether fish were hot or cold-blooded.

Or maybe he’d recently been in a washroom like that, with a stainless-steel nib between the taps and it leaked handwash.

Neither of them had slept well. The children were away camping with the school. She made bowls of frothy-coffee, French style; you nursed it with both hands as if you were nursing yourself.

It’s been a very grisly evening and a very strange evening too. At first we were told that there were 139 deaths but suddenly with no official explanation we were told it was 36. It’s still Turkey’s worst ever rail disaster.

Weather now and it’s going to be dry and sunny

The traffic squeezed through the sunlight squeezed through the traffic. It was her pride and joy, the sexy checkerboard roof as she climbed in, the baby steering-wheel.

Flushing stream between granite walls stained dark. A wet cot-mattress under kicking legs. She braked, then sped up. She couldn’t recover much; it was dim like a child’s night-light. How fresh, a nipped daffodil oozing its own bidet as it lay on the side. Surely it wouldn’t be long now. Patrick would kiss her neck from eye to heel, like an evening-glove.


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