It’s been raining solid now for about six months as far as I can recall. Those sodden clothes hanging out there are vaguely familiar but I’ve given up hope of ever retrieving them, and you know what? I don’t care.
I care not. I care nothing. Nothing care I.
A pox on those clothes hanging there in my rain-sodden garden waving their soaked sleeves at me like so many sensible, beige, hate-crime victims.
Damn them. I never liked that corduroy Wrangler jacket anyway. Let it rot in this incessant, unceasing, never-stopping precipitation. Damn that jacket, even if it did have one or two tiny pockets useful for secreting life’s little embarrassments in time of oppression. I prefer the Levis jacket though it may be full of holes and even if the cuffs are hanging off.
And as for those socks?
I wave my private parts at those socks. Those socks are nothing to me. They are ex-socks.
You see that cheesy -shirt that says Quick, get me another beer, you’re still ugly?
I haven’t worn that T-shirt in six months because for six months it’s been hanging out there in the never-ending Blade Runner rain, and guess what. Life went on just fine without it.
The same goes for my Jesus loves you but everyone else thinks you’re a cunt T-shirt. Anyway, that one was never great at business meetings. Some people have no sense of humour.
I wandered out today with the Hound of Satan but I’m afraid we didn’t get far. We couldn’t manage to negotiate our favourite riverside walk because there was no river side. Just river.
As I studied the raging torrent with its whorls and whirls, its ineffable, intertwining, pas-de-double, alternating, unfailingly courteous vortices — after you, no no no after you — I’m ashamed to admit that a base and unseemly thought crossed my mind for perhaps a nanosecond, or even a microsecond.
Very well then. A second.
For a full second, as I gazed into the roiling spate, I thought, Now would be a good time to kick that fucking dog into the river.
This is to my shame and I know you won’t tell anyone. Here’s a few pics of our uneventful stroll as I ruminated on the ineluctable modality of something or other and the dog wondered why there was nothing to kill.