rydings

In a home from home, called Hoxton Square, a man castigates me. He tells me XY and Z, things I don’t understand. He tells me I don’t understand the things he’s saying and he’s right. More to the point, I don’t know why he’s saying them.

He’s someone I’m fond of, and whose music I’m currently listening to. I told him to be careful of his bones. He swears and shimmies. He’s not a happy bunny, I stand and listen. It’s my farewell do. My wife is far away. My friends have no idea. He turns and says he’s leaving. He’s given himself the first word and the last word. I am a wall for his fury.

Sometimes, you’re fond of someone, which inclines you to say what you think. And the fact that you have this inclination is the reason they are fond of you. But the moment of convergence can only lead to an unwanted angst.