OOH! ISN’T LIFE CYCLICAL?
I was very drunk. I had stayed in the spare bed above the pub. There was some sort of turtle swimming towards me against the tank wall. Scraping feet, a banging shell and all night long regard by those turtle eyes. I got really fucking drunk because of my medicine. I was throwing up steaming beer.
Next afternoon, I walked through Cheapside, a poor place in a poor town and bought a pie from a shop. Halfway through, I wiped my lip and it was covered in blood. The torn pie tray had cut it. My pie was covered in blood and I had been scoffing it. Once again, out came that steaming beer, now with gristle and pastry, out and into the bin in Cheapside.
Lots of elderly Bolton peasants were looking at me. Their eyes were not like the turtle’s but drab and like milky paint. They had a high tripe content. “You’re eyes are like a turtle’s looking mindlessly out from its tank!” I said inaccurately. Nobody understood. I didn’t win anything and more people were looking now. 12 hours of varied regard and one net gain for global fucking irresolve.
