dance monkey dance

The weekend flowed through me like a river of angular time, jaunty and occasionally fun, but with a lingering aftertaste of frustration. Friday i managed to eke myself into the crowd of post work revellers, and went for a solitary pint of lager with them to make them aware that there is a human element to me, that i am not purely made of shadow. She was there as well, but not near me, and to be fair I am unaware of whether she even noticed me there. Perhaps i am more made of shadow than i realise. A floating pint in a wispy hand.

The bus provided clammy breathing space and time to wander into my inner mind to ponder situations that may have arisen should i have stayed in the pub. The group listening to one of my tales and cachinnating to a standstill. Her brushing past me with a smile. The walk from dark busstop to home includes a walk through a dark alley. That night i trotted along and the solitary lamp that lights my way blinked out of existence. It was a split second decision, but i quickly started to dance. I scuffed my feet against the shallow puddles as if running on the spot and pumped my arms like rowing an awkward boat. When the light blinked back on, I ceased to do this. Feeling like i had cheated the world i carried on, only to see a middle boy sitting on a swing watching me. Was he one? Probably. The rest of my journey was staring at the pavement

I tried to find the bookshop twice at the weekend. Both times i got distracted by birds. I used to find them amazing before i understood how they work. Now i find them fascinating. I realise the shop does not yet want to be found. I don’t know who the birds work for, perhaps for the shop.