© Chris Port, 18th November 2011
Yesterday, after a very bad week, I got hold of some money (legally). My bones felt like watery soup. I dribbled down the high street. My body craved salt and fat. A door opened. The aroma of hot cholesterol (literally solid bile) fanned out into the gritty cold. I drooled like a jackal. Now I know how we smell to vampires.
Yesterday, after a very bad week, I got hold of some money (legally). My bones felt like watery soup. I dribbled down the high street. My body craved salt and fat. A door opened. The aroma of hot cholesterol (literally solid bile) fanned out into the gritty cold. I drooled like a jackal. Now I know how we smell to vampires.
The girl who served me was beautiful. She glowed like an elf princess under the menu boards. Her smile would have stopped a cat from licking its tummy. I fell instantly in love with her.
But then, in that same instant, I saw us in a parallel universe. She would want to weep at Titanic. I would want to cheer at Sink The Bismarck. Our lives are ships that sink in the night.
I let her down gently (as men always do) by saying nothing. Unknown to her, somewhere a bubble universe had just collapsed. She handed me my burger and fries. An invisible jet engine quietly fell through the roof. She smiled again. Tolkien would have written Lord of the Onion Rings after her.
I shyly grabbed a dictionary-sized wad of paper napkins (saves on buying loo roll) and walked away like Humphrey Bogart. The moon was half full. I kissed a French fry. The salt lightly grazed my lips. Sometimes junk food tastes like the music of love.
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