Him with the legs weakenin on account of the blood headed north for a time, and then it's over, and aye, a fella tryin to blink, and no, no chance of the eyelids meetin for a split-half-nanosecond anytime between now and Christmas.
Few days later, Sinéad, she's saying "By the way, about the Anna thing, I kiss girls."
And The Duke shruggin. "S'ok. So do I. Don't tell no-one."
On account of God forbid folks might assume I get some sometimes.
Following Anna and Sinéad's "moment", group a lads appear around us, few faces materializing in the mass, one of them fiddling with a tiny bottle a poppers, and passed amongst them, The Duke abstaining, five or six folks indulging in a sniff an a cough and the eyes left an right red as oxen arseholes, giggling, sweat risin on their foreheads, and then, it would appear, the high dissipates, the brains sink back into the waves a vodka and the Jägermeister.
Because a popper high doesn't last long, this much I remember from days spent wandering high school corridors, the thumping in the temple reaching a grotesque crescendo just as the doors are opened and the seats taken and Mrs McCallister banterin bout Pythagoras as the nose starts runnin and the sickness swells in the groin.
(Occasionally, just to see what happens, the pill at the bottom of the bottle is swallowed, and then a hilarious series of paranoid ravings, oh my god, what if it's poisonous, what if it isn't, what if I die and 'thout ever once getting tween the legs of the lass I started smoking to impress.
And later in life, sober and clean, the realization that probably I will die without ever doing any such thing, suddenly it don't seem so terrible, really.)
And so.
Here on the street, with the photo stored on the camera memory, with a woman with a head-scarf sellin plastic roses on the street, with talk of buses to catch and infamies to exploit, a cry to the left a me, "Go fuck yourself you fuckin asshole!", and it's a girl, she's screamin at one a the emo-fringes, he's runnin up the street, arms out at the side, "Aw yeah, fuckin fuck me, that's right, I didn't fuckin do anything, but go ahead", and next thing anyone knows three of the fringes are tryin to hold back another, he's got the fist frozen three inches from the face of a jock the size a thirteen factories, the two a them spittin at each other, "Come the fuck on then!" and "I'll kick your fringe half-way to Kansas!" and any manner a violent prophecies, and then it's done with, the fringes and the jocks, they reassess the situation, realize that whatever started it all, probably it ain't got nothing to do with the shockin absence a any blow, and so let's go hunt the white-lines and forget all about this crazy fisticuff mania.
Article comments
1 - DJRadiohead
... as the first strains of "Waltz #2 (XO)" begin to play...
Aces. Absolute aces. I want a flat in Mondo Irlando and to never attempt to write again so as not to embarrass myself.
I guess what I am saying is... I enjoyed the fuck out this series of yours, Duke. Really, really did.
2 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
DJ, thank you, man. i feel like some sorta purgin was goin on, feel kinda exhausted with it all an ain't a hundred percent sure if it's any good, but nonetheless, feels like some sorta Full Stop's been issued, for sure.
3 - DJRadiohead
First let me assure you it was more than good.
I think I understand what you mean about the sense of... 'relief.' That sense you get when you finally finish the work and put it out there... a feeling only intensified when work is of a personal nature to you. There's an excitement and a terror and a thrill and a panic all happening at the same time and it is fucking exhausting.
Just wait til the others who have followed this saga check in. You're going to get kudos out the wazz. Of course, if you're anything like me, you'll appreciate the fuck out of the kind words and praise all the while not believing one fucking bit of it.
Regardless... I loved traveling along with you and Sir Fleming et all.
4 - Bennett
Yeah, I'll second that thought. Thanks Duke, it was a wild ride.
5 - Aaron Fleming (Sir)
Yep, absolutely fantastic. That last section is so wonderfully poignant.
God, it seems like years ago, or maybe another dimension, or, even, a dream. Geeky glasses, sigh.
"fella with the daft blue velvet jacket and the Clerks t-shirt" - Hahahaha, monstrous hilarity at that self-deprecation.
6 - Sinéad
the jacket was BRILLIANT!!
the clerks t-shirt was great also
7 - DJRadiohead
"Clerks" is a vital piece of American cinema. I need that t-shirt.
8 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
ach, sorry folks, i been out the game for a day or two. it honestly means a hell of a lot to know you folks dug it, since i was unsure if i liked this part or not, an still think i'll re-write the end at some point. but it does a man good to know some folks understood what was goin on, an got some sort of enjoyment out of it all. heh, the entertainment provided by a fella's soul-scourging agony.
and Sinéad, the jacket maybe was fairly brilliant in and of itself, but hung round my awkward frame, well, was like hangin a picasso on the side of a shithouse.
acutally, that'd be fuckin brilliant.
alright, was like watching Manhattan on a shitty tv with the picture panned and scanned and the aerial fucked so every now and again you get the news breakin through.
(break on through etc etc)
DJ, i'll lend you the shirt. it appears chicks dig it.
9 - Greg Smyth
I can't believe I didn't comment on this at the time. Really enjoyed this whole thing and am honestly a little sad it's finished. Keep it up, chief.
10 - Mat Brewster
I'll second that, Greg. 'ceptin' I just now read this final installment on account of needing the time and the mind frame to finnish such a lovely tale.
Thanks Duke.