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Meeting Paulie

Look! Over there! It was Filthy Richie tugging at my sleeve.

What?

Over there, beside the speaker. Isn’t that -?

Jesus, I said. I think you’re right. It’s –

It is, said Filthy Richie. It’s Paul Simon.

Christ Almighty, I said. Little Paulie. I haven’t seen him since the thing with the snake and the three Russian – ah, you know what I mean.

Richie nodded sadly. Will I ever forget?

Call him over, I said. Hold on, I think I caught his eye.

Paul looked up, recognised me and in an instant he was pushing his way through the baying crowd.

Bock! he jumped up on a chair and threw his arms around me. And Filthy Richie! Jesus, I haven’t seen you guys since . . . since . . . oh wait. Now I remember. He shook his head sadly.

So tell me, I said. How’s things? How are you these days?

Old, he said. I’m old.

We’re all old, I told him. Any word of Art. Ever meet him these days?

Yeah, he said. We even talk to each other a bit these days, but he’s still an asshole.

Here you go, said Filthy Richie, returning from the bar. Wild Turkey for you, Bock, and a five-litre tankard of Kulminator for Paulie.

No, thanks, said Paul. I quit.

Richie took a step back, leaned against the wall, blinked, looked at me and croaked, What?

I quit drinking. It was bad for me.

But you’re the guy who won the All-Alaska beer-swilling and blubber-swallowing contest three years in a row.

True, smiled Paul wistfully.

And the Trans-Siberian shoe-polish-gulping trophy.

Ah, happy days, agreed little Paul. Go on then. I’ll just have that one.

Twelve hours later, I woke up in some dank Latvian bordello. Filthy Richie stared at me blankly, the way he becomes after half a kilo of brown mescalin. Slumped in the shadows, I recognised our friend Paul Simon. He wasn’t looking too good.

Paul, I shook him. Paul! You all right?

Nnngnnggnng! he groaned.

Paul, wake up.

Aaaarrrggghh! he said and threw up where he sat.

What the fuck – ?? I jumped back.  Jesus, Paul, don’t tell me you’re –

Yup, he confirmed.  Still queasy after all those beers.

10 replies on “Meeting Paulie”

Badgerdaddy: Indeed

Nora: Neither do I

Galwaywegian: Don’t we all.

Ellen: Ah, you know. So-so.

Manuel: But of course, you’re from Barcelona.

Kit Bán : OK. I will.

Savannah: That could be dangerous

Aisling: Good. I’m glad. Laughing is good and we should nall do more of it.

Langford: Howya Twenty. Nice to see you again.

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