I lower my face into my pint, wishing there was enough beer left to drown me. A peaceful death blanketed by gentle buzzing; the slow silent slide into oblivion. Alas, only a mouthful remains, stale and still at the bottom of a dirty glass. I feel sick…
Champagne, he asked. She was silent so he poured only one. The city through bubbles seemed warped and strange. He took a sip and told her how good it was. She smiled at the sky, sunset fire and balloon shadows in her eyes…
I have nothing against ponds, but I don’t want to sit by one twenty-four seven. It’s just generally uncomfortable. And besides, like many purveyors of pointless pursuits, these particular gardeners are completely devoid of logic. They have not populated their pond…