Holes in the wall behind me, stiletto heels penetrating the telly screen, paperback novels flung gainst furniture, The Idiot in tatters round the fireplace, an The Duke cowerin in the corner of the room.
"You rotten bastard!" she's shouting, "Don't lie to me! I know the truth, see, throbbin like a plastic fuck-wand out your eye-holes!"
"The hell is this lunacy? I ain't lied about a damn thing!"
Fleeting recollections a recent conversations - "Yeah, looks like the record'll probably be out sometime in the new year, all being well"… "Oh, god yeah, I can't get enough a Pink Floyd"… "Tell the truth, I'm more of a listener than a talker".
"Regarding this particular issue, I most certainly speak only the holiest a truths!"
She's shovin clothes into a plastic bag, ain't been here long enough to have amassed any sorta worthwhile wardrobe, few tops is all, couple items a underwear.
"You're a filthy Triffid cunt, an I'm off, hear me, off!"
An she is, too, stompin round the avenue screamin about "Plant bastard" an "Payola, y'hear, payola!!"
Waddlin to the gate wi my trousers hangin round the shins, shoutin; "Slander! I'm not a plant! I liked the fuckin thing! It was great!"
She turns, I look her in the eyes;
"It was a fuckin masterpiece!"
Throwin the arms skywards spittin an wailin, an so I get the hell back indoors, aye, sit down by the glow a the electric sun hangin up top the busted telly.
Makin a note;
"No-one wants to believe a man can be touched a the soul-paste by a major motion picture anymore. No-one wants to hear about how beautiful the experience was, if'n Roger Ebert's already said he liked it. No-one accepts that any critic truly believes what they're sayin about how King Kong stole the hearts out their arses an ran wi the pulsin organ tween the gums half-way round the block. They're just high on hype, aye, or worse, they're filthy vegetable bastards growin out the studio's ballbag."
Leavin the cinema by way a the path trodden by a lovely lass wi emo specs sat beside me throughout the picture, still smilin an kinda damp-jawed on account of the wonders a King Kong, even contemplatin whistlin a tune, if'n I could whistle, y'unnerstann. Headin on cross the car-park, suddenly seized by a liver-yapped leper in a trenchcoat reekin a cynicism.
"What's that you got there, brother?" he's snarlin, pointin at my head wi half a finger. "What's that bleedin cross your stinkin jowls, I say, twistin your jaw all sortsa maniacal fashions?"
Shruggin. "I'm just smilin, is all. I'm happy. I just saw King Kong, loved the hell out a it."