I'm stuck in an endless conversation. I don't know where it began or what it's about or even who it is with. Or even if my contributions are all that relevant.
I spend my mornings before work sitting at the Masonic compasses at custom house square staring out over the Lagan at the Odyssey Complex. Thinking about goths and satanists, and crackheads and alcoholics, and my puppy dog that depends on me, nights of smokin' hot heavy metal rock and roll vomit parties and if I'll ever get them back? and if I'll ever get out of the call centre before it shuts down anyway? And if I do will I get somewhere I want to go? And will I ever get a sweetheart of my own before I too turn to stone?
The little bit of okayness I gained from sneering at Captain Cool Bastard has trickled away like the last dribble of pish on the toilet seat the morning after a humungus bender.
I can see it, there's something of what I loved still there but I don't want it back, because it would't be enough.
