I am walking home. The sun is setting behind the old warehouses in a welter of orange and pink. I feel numb and alone. I feel like a rubber sheet with a lead weight in the centre, everything stretching down toward it. Any thought or fear slips down to the middle and disappears. Nothing comes out. I want more time. A trapdoor has been released within: everything I was or am or could be falls away.
My feet kick a stone along Carver Street. A man asks me for something. I understand less than 1% of what he says, but his demeanour and actions indicate that he wants some change. He smells like he hasn’t washed for a long time, and his left nostril is full of snot. I give him the 53p from my pocket and he continues on his way.
I feel like a hot air balloon, buoyant and giddy and drifting, being dragged low by the gondola beneath me; there are no more flames from the burner and, as the air grows cold within the envelope, the ground gets closer. I long for the impact, for a change, for any feeling other than this one.
My feet kick a stone along Carver Street. A man asks me for something. I understand less than 1% of what he says, but his demeanour and actions indicate that he wants some change. He smells like he hasn’t washed for a long time, and his left nostril is full of snot. I give him the 53p from my pocket and he continues on his way.
I feel like a hot air balloon, buoyant and giddy and drifting, being dragged low by the gondola beneath me; there are no more flames from the burner and, as the air grows cold within the envelope, the ground gets closer. I long for the impact, for a change, for any feeling other than this one.
Hello, my name is Jack Sparrow. I'm a 50 year old self-employed Pirate from the Caribbean.
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