Time To Lie Low

The fallout of the Messy May street party has resulted in a few sore heads this week dear reader. It was the type of party where everyone thinks it’s best to lay low for a while afterwards. Let the dust settle. So I find myself back at the Drain where I vowed I would never return. And as usual I’m sharing the bar with the usual unusuals.

There’s an old man sitting next to me who drinks rather loudly. From across the room you can hear each gulp. Then after every draw he smacks his lips and goes Ahh! He also has a bellowing voice… says “tell us a story mister street writer man”.

The Drain bar

Blitz at the bar is a neighbour of mine. He’s trying to remain inconspicuous after he had just a little too much fun at the street party. Even his mohawk spikes have a little droopiness to them these last few days.

There’s Dirk the starving writer with the uncommonly hansom penis. And he’s talking with this dude everyone calls “knee cartilage” - he only ever talks about his lack of knee cartilage… and probably will do for life.

And the waitress is practising polemics. Tonight she’ll be a stripper on the Pink Poodle paddle steamer. While the manager gambles away his estate because he doesn’t want his kids to get it.

Photo by Teo Zac on Unsplash

And there’s all astir to hear some kind of story now. So I tell them what happened on the train platform the other day… A bewildered looking woman, who had been roaming the length of the station, suddenly yelled “John”. And when John didn’t answer, she became worried and called “John” again. And each time he failed to answer, she became more and more anxious. She went up and down the platform looking and calling him. “John, where are you?” she cried. Well it was all a bit distressing, and by the time the train arrived John still hadn’t appeared. So John, if you’re out there, know that there’s a woman looking for you.

And I wasn’t to know dear reader. Blow me down if old knee cartilage doesn’t pipe up right there and describe the woman feature for feature. “That’s her,” I said, “she’s looking for you knee-er… John”.

So John KC tells everyone gathered, the story of how he met her in the knee clinic waiting room. She’d been following him around, and now when he thought he had finally given her the slip, now he finds she’s been down the train station calling his name. The waitress thought it was sweet. John KC almost choked. Dirk fell into a swoon and had to be revived.

And you ask why I keep coming back down the drain, dear reader? When I swore black and blue I would never drag you back down here; not in a million years. And here we are… again. People will think I have a problem. Well, I’m here because I just love the decor… and because they like stories here… and they give me more stories than I give them.

And they ask what my stories mean dear reader. And by a country mile they love to hear how the stories came about. Yes they love that far better than the stories themselves. And I must thank you for reading dear reader, thank you for reading my absolute definite cross-my-heart last post ever from the depths of the drain.