Sunday, 26 July 2015

up and down all morning

years and years ago,
when we were all  big bullshitters,
I had this mate and
my god
he could spin a yarn.
like he told me
that this one sunday morning
he'd been out all night
somewhere in town

and that
he'd got on the northern line,
heading home to wimbledon,
still off his head,
smelled bad,
white jeans all stained
and cigarette burns
on his shirt
normal people staring at him,

and that
his eyes had closed

and that
when they opened again,
he was dazzled in the hot glare of daylight

and that he was passing through east finchley,
heading north,

as in he had supposedly been passed out all the way south to morden
and then all the way north on the way back up to high barnet.

well, I didn't believe him
but it was one of those clubland boasts,
one of those ecstasy war stories.
so I was probably all like "what are you like, you nutter."