There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after
dusk
, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out....
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
...
...
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.