Saturday, 3 July 2010


QT suspiciously eyed the empty bottle bottom from its upturned position above his upwardly gazing eye; the fact that he wasn't blinded by that action in one – that – eye, by a red-coloured alcoholic solution, suggested to him that he was, in fact, out of wine. "Vino Collapso" as he unamusingly liked to refer to it. The crushed and all-too-empty cigarette packed offered no further joy. This could only portend one thing: a visit to the local corner shop, which was, thankfully, embedded in the apartment skirting board and conveniently accessed through a sort of inter-dimensional portal that, for all practical purposes, resembled a mouse hole.

The immediate convenience of the corner shop was somewhat diminished by its behind-the-counter assistant who had, unwittingly, years ago, succumbed to the big "C" but had only recently been notified of this life sentence in a sentence spoke unto him by the surgeon. They - QT and he - had never really talked about it in depth. No one wanted to mention the “C” word, which made for all the more less, more or less all, all too uncomfortable to insert into casual transactional small talk, talk.

So, ah, how's things? You know ,ah, in general as opposed to the specific?

Can't grumble. No, wait, I can, but I choose not to. When the surgeon first told me ...

Told you?

... the “news”, well , you know ...

I don't, but I'll suspend my disbelief and reinstall my credulity.

“Inoperable” he said; “however, if we keep pumping you with this highly toxic treatment, you can go on for another fifteen years, unless ,of course, you suddenly drop dead due to, you know, whatever they find out at the autopsy, if they have one. It all depends on just how interesting, criminally speaking, the circumstances are, were. If you catch my drift.”

Ah-ha! Ah. Well, we're all dying a little bit every day, in a certain way, I suppose.

I've made my peace.

And now you've said it and it's a most fitting memorial. Living memorial, I mean. After all, who wants to live forever, eh? Imagine, it must get quite boring. Eternity? Harps and fluffy candy clouds. Who listens to harp music these days? So it's okay in a TV scene setting way, but who would download onto their epods?

You're talking about the afterlife. Heaven. In heaven you're still dead.

Quite right. Quite right. Is that the time? I have to go and pick up my ewatch from the menders. I'll just take my booze and fags now. There's your money.

It was then QT noticed the panpipes music embedded “casually” into the ambient environment and realised that this was one-hell-of-a corner shop.


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