A most perplexing development. It all started a few days ago with what I thought to be a small cut on my finger. I paid it no particular heed at the time - until, that is, I heard the voice.
"What is it!" I cried.
Some people around me gave me queer sideways glances in their very English way. I was at Dan's pyromaniac party, held at his country retreat. It must be the drink talking I thought, as I suspiciously examined a whisky bottle (I am teetotal you see). The drink was saying nothing though. So there I was, in the middle of a scintillating conversation with a volumptuous bald lady, with a head like a potato and an extremely small face - when it happened again.
"Eeek!"
The cry left my anguished lips completely involunantarily (try saying that after x6 joints and a bottle of something strong, Mack!!). What was it! Where was this tiny whisper coming from? It seemed to be emanating from the direction of my glass of alcohol-free absinthe. I was in the process of investigating this improbable possibility when it sounded once again...
And that was the stomach clenching, ring-piece flexing moment of terror when I realised that the small nick on my finger, was actually a tiny little mouth. A tiny mouth with a chilling message -
"Kill Dan..."
Later, on the bridge...
I love this photo, and the 'play' between the 'reality' of our feet, and the 'ghost' of our reflections (together with the pretentious nuance of the over-used quotation marks I liberally used on that sentence... I'm a bit of a wanker, don't yer know!). It was Dan's idea to take this picture, and mine to twist it to this narrative. What a team we are!
Well, it's time for me to hit the hay now. Dan & I will now wave a watery 'goodbye' to you, loyal and patient Reader...
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