Spritely Mo

Newness. Culbability. The loss of words.

I said to him, how much is a hot steak pie?

One twenty.

One twenty? I'd just seen his pal take one for seventy pence. I should have said stick your one twenty up your arse, but I didn't. I paid the money and ate the pie.

Is that philosophical? You could make it so, I guess. The fact is it's just a pain. I'm going to make my own steak pies from now on - that's the only solution I can see for my sense of despair.

Other than that I'm totally okay, it's just a shame it takes one silly man's greed to ruin a night.

Ruin?

No, that's too much. I'll let the ugly bastard pass, let him slip away out of my mind and remember the kindness shown by others who had less to begin with. Good on them.

Ho! I'm enlightened. It's cool; there is nothing can harm me. I wish I could say how to try it but the thing just comes and you don't know how. It's like depression, only better.

How are you these days? Still beating up your dreams? I never understood why you went so hard at it. I thought you might be crazy but you came out with that stuff that night which blew us all away - totally majestic poetry by the way; you should think about being a God.

Oh, you have? Well no wonder, good on ya, hope it works out.

There were a few other things I wanted to say but they seem so unimportant suddenly. I suppose that's life, flowing transient, ephemeral cakes. How do you make things stick like that?

Two people talked to me. Larry the bassist and some bearded guy who works with the homeless and the damned. The bearded fellow didn't want anything else, just the chat. Larry asked my name.

I preferred the bearded fellow. Nothing against Larry - I just dislike giving my name away.

We sung, we sawed, we conkered. As the sun went down we thought we were happy and rightly so. Rightly so.