Confession by XXXXX XXXXXXXXX
It is warm in the bar, warm and sweaty. The football is on and people are screaming at every kick of the ball. She is moaning at me again for being late. I should tell her to go fuck herself but I don’t and sip at my pint. She is wearing an awful orange top and her red lipstick makes her look ridiculous. She tells me about her job and I nod in agreement at her grievances. She thinks we relate to each other.
We head for the party. She is holding my hand and pulling herself into my body as we walk. She smells nice and for a minute I love her again. She tells me of the budget cuts, the cancellations, the office relationships. I nod and give niceties. She likes this and kisses me and tells me she loves me.
The party is full of the normal faceless people; the dreaded ‘creatives’. The apartment is owned by Tomkin Dada the editor of Gizface Magazine. He’d just been diagnosed with AIDS so was throwing a party to celebrate. Tom sees us and approaches. Kiss, kiss. He is wearing a pink frilled shirt with a pair of tiny shorts. His giant belly sticking out of the top.
I know, I know, AIDS, I’m so fucking 1990’s darling. Sometimes I wish it was something timeless like good old cancer. He sips at his drink and laughs. Everyone laughs. Here’s to Mr Death, he shouts and people reply ‘To Death’. Cue more laughter.
Later, I am drunk and the conversation is going wrong with some kid in glasses. I tell him that he doesn’t know what life means. That he could never be a true artist like me because he hasn’t lived. That no young person can ever know what it means to live. It is a stupid argument but he keeps interrupting me. I get mad and call him an asshole.
He smiles and says, I know, you have told me nine fucking times.
Smart ass fucker.
I throw a punch but am too drunk. He dodges and comes back with a mighty wallop to my head. This young lad with such a mighty punch shocks me. I go again and catch him in the stomach with a left but it lacks power. He catches me with a roundhouse right and knocks me straight on my ass.
The room has gone silent. The warm feel of blood is flowing from my nose. I see it on my shirt and smile. I get to my feet and Tomkin approaches and tells me it’s best that I leave.
In the taxi she is angry at me. She tells me that I have embarrassed her. Well, I’ll fuck her hard to make up for it, I reason.
It is warm in the bar, warm and sweaty. The football is on and people are screaming at every kick of the ball. She is moaning at me again for being late. I should tell her to go fuck herself but I don’t and sip at my pint. She is wearing an awful orange top and her red lipstick makes her look ridiculous. She tells me about her job and I nod in agreement at her grievances. She thinks we relate to each other.
We head for the party. She is holding my hand and pulling herself into my body as we walk. She smells nice and for a minute I love her again. She tells me of the budget cuts, the cancellations, the office relationships. I nod and give niceties. She likes this and kisses me and tells me she loves me.
The party is full of the normal faceless people; the dreaded ‘creatives’. The apartment is owned by Tomkin Dada the editor of Gizface Magazine. He’d just been diagnosed with AIDS so was throwing a party to celebrate. Tom sees us and approaches. Kiss, kiss. He is wearing a pink frilled shirt with a pair of tiny shorts. His giant belly sticking out of the top.
I know, I know, AIDS, I’m so fucking 1990’s darling. Sometimes I wish it was something timeless like good old cancer. He sips at his drink and laughs. Everyone laughs. Here’s to Mr Death, he shouts and people reply ‘To Death’. Cue more laughter.
Later, I am drunk and the conversation is going wrong with some kid in glasses. I tell him that he doesn’t know what life means. That he could never be a true artist like me because he hasn’t lived. That no young person can ever know what it means to live. It is a stupid argument but he keeps interrupting me. I get mad and call him an asshole.
He smiles and says, I know, you have told me nine fucking times.
Smart ass fucker.
I throw a punch but am too drunk. He dodges and comes back with a mighty wallop to my head. This young lad with such a mighty punch shocks me. I go again and catch him in the stomach with a left but it lacks power. He catches me with a roundhouse right and knocks me straight on my ass.
The room has gone silent. The warm feel of blood is flowing from my nose. I see it on my shirt and smile. I get to my feet and Tomkin approaches and tells me it’s best that I leave.
In the taxi she is angry at me. She tells me that I have embarrassed her. Well, I’ll fuck her hard to make up for it, I reason.
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