Hands

...So Im sitting in this bar and its pretty empty and I look around fisheyed and look down and my hands are fighting again. They've been attacking eachother and throwing dubbed kung-fu movie taunts at eachother from some time. I keep having to pull them apart. Im baked by this point because I know the Guiness is running out see keep ordering a pint from a different bar person and when it fizzles half way through keeping it and buying a beer too. Ive done this 4 times now and it seems in no danger of actually running out and the drugs are really starting to twist things up. It seemed so simple at the time- my girl was getting back from the airport at 11 so all I had to do was kill 5 hours, so I retire to the bar with a book and settle in. Ive already done a couple of lines to test the goods and I figure after this beer Im going to see what the pills do. I walk back and the first one has a wierd texture against my treeth, like those breathmints Hale and pace used to advertise that gave you the shits if you ate too many, but has a fairly conventional effect- Im sitting alone in a bar creased double with laughter at the queer guys who are having a big jamboree at the next table. Did you know in the gay world its incredibly fashionable to have the exact, and I mean exact same hair as Dusty Springfield circa 1965?

http://www.fashion-era.com/images/1950-2000/dusty.jpg

Fashion-gays fucking kill me at the best of times so when Im having to stop my hands shouting abuse at eachother and swim through the bar to get to the john these gentle little fruits had me in stitches. I didnt fuck with them as my mouth was obeying its own law and generally joining in the slnging match going on at the end of my arms. Although I did corner a load of loud estate agents so stereotypical you expected them to start shouting LOADSAMONEY at eachother. I asked them why they were wearing such ill-fitting suits at 10:30; were they going to catch a late night funeral? had one of their mums died? I offered my condolences. They suggested I fuck off. I flicked my cigarette at the largest one's back as he guffawed down his phone and climbed back into the bar.
Eventually, after an eternity or two 11 rolls around and I saunter over to my girls place. Its on the high street next to Wildes so I take a short cut through Tesco. I emerge with a bottle of warm Cava. Did I pay for it? Was it a gift? Do all customers get one? What are the kinky possibilities of such a bottle? I felt those questions though interesting were dominated by the overwhelming need to get horizontal and unconscious real soon. No sooner am I passing out does she start whining at me that shes tired and needs a decent nights sleep. I groan something incoherent about agreeing 100% but she wont have it. Im bundled back into my clothes in an increasigly bad mood. "No one fucks me around" I say, "Im in total control of my life!" as I slide up the stairs on my back. She says shes sorry and I suggest she goes and fucks herself. I was relieved because I wasnt sure how I was going to explain I didnt want a serious relationship, and had rehearsed several versions of exaplining this none of which deviated remotely from the deeply hackneyed cliches. Considering when my vocal chords were on loan to the part of my mind that makes songs stick in my head in the mornings I knew this was the only way. Eventually I mounted the stairs and dramatically stormed off, returning a moment later for my book and spectacles. "Good day, madame!" I shouted at her front door as it slammed in my face. "Come on hands" I said. They seemed to finally have made their peace with eachother. "Ill always love you. Especially you, Righty." That just got them started again.