Just something I churned out in the pub last night. Here’s to the Gin Palace on the corner of Liffey Street and Middle Abbey Street!
Peace came like calm before a storm. He was familiar with its embrace. Every time – every single time – it was the same; prepare to set off, usually taking much more time than was necessary, panic about having left behind something important, spend the journey – brief though it was – worrying about how he looked, sweat rivers due to anxiety or heat – he was forever excessively clad – and then, just before reaching his destination… Relief.
The first time he had experienced this personal phenomenon, he had been elated; “Finally, I am cured!” No more anxiety, no more fretting, no more worry, no more sweating… He had wanted to laugh in carefree abandon at his unintentional internal rhyme. To shout his triumph at all and sundry; “Behold, normal people, I am now like you!” All the time spent believing himself to be inferior, a coward, a man ruled by fear… At last it was at an end.
That was the moment it had come flooding back. Of course it had. He was in the grip of this disease – it would not relinquish its grasp so easily. Almost immediately the storm clouds had returned, their rain of terror on hand to drench his temporarily sunny disposition. The joy was quickly replaced by a heavy, resigned depression. This was his life. This would always be his life.
He picked up the litre of milk he had ostensibly come for and, blushing uncontrollably and sweating profusely, approached the cash register. “Twenty Camel Blue please,” he mumbled, barely coherent. I bet she thinks I’m a paedophile, or some other form of sex offender, he contemplated morosely.
After clumsily and self-consciously sorting through his change, he paid the bored shop employee and stumbled out in what he believed to be a characteristically uncoordinated fashion.
He sighed. That’s that job done. Until tomorrow, at least.
Solidarity, brothers & sisters…♥