Monday, January 24, 2005


I was at a gig recently. A kind of quiet band, no reason for dancing really. This one fat guy is dancing. But seeing as the music is so slow, he kind of bobs up and down very quickly in order to catch each beat in whatever way he can. He’s right beside me and I’m reaching up to take sip of my beer that’s in one of those all too squishy plastic cups. Guy knocks my elbow and the beer flops onto my wrist. I hold it out from myself to mitigate the damage and scuttle backwards so it doesn’t go on my legs. The guy has started bouncing his way through the crowd to the front. He is the only one moving like that. He’s alone. I hope he dies that way.

I pass my beer into my left hand and shake my right to remove the excess, becoming sticky, liquid. A teenage girl and her friend barge past with that "There’s a crisis/our friend needs us" look that teenage slits get on their wrecked faces and my beer inevitably hits the deck. Now it’s on my ankles. The girls head for the toilets, one cross armed, the other looking very concerned. They clearly haven’t seen those ads about looking both ways. I hope it comes back to cripple them both.