So I wake up after a string of nightmares, mostly about drowning. And a wave of apathy washes over me.
Outside it's mild, and dark. I'm wearing slippers, and a hat. A hat which I last wore in 2005. And I'm walking and its 2103. And as I'm walking I'm listening to Sometimes by City and Colour, and I haven't listened to this album since last summer. During that week where we drank gin and swam in the pool, and lay on the concrete floor in the sun, tanning. And the mildness reminds me of those late September nights and I'm thinking of the summer to come.
And a rented house in London. And for a week, or maybe more, depending on how long I can last we'll watch Secret Diary of A Call Girl. As the open windows channel the evening breeze past the morning papers on the table and into the room, carrying the smell of melting tarmac. And by night we'll stay out drinking in bars, and coffee shops, or walking the streets until dusk or maybe even eight or nine in the morning, and then we'll collapse and sleep all day. And eventually MTV will win us over.
And by the time this scene has played out I'm sitting on the door step, smoking a cigarette. And I can't inhale, so I stub it out. And go back inside, and close my eyes, and as I walk up the stairs I wonder what it would be like to be blind. And I lay down.