Truth, Lies, Dreams
At the supermarket buying eggs.
I’m walking around with a girl I used to go out with. She has long black hair, greasy or unwashed I am not sure which, but I do not recognize her and besides, she’s in her twenties; she has a new boyfriend now.
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We arrive into Kuala Lumpur by night train. Ahead of us a different train, blue with a Wild West chimney stack, is blocking our arrival, unloading first. Then once emptied of passengers, our own train finally pulls forward, gently hits the dusty posts of the railway bumper.
We step down onto the tracks. A couple, with baby, step down behind us. The young woman unpacks a well-worn suitcase, also from a bygone era, misty camera view of a small case neatly packed on muslin sheets.
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Staying at a château adjacent to the Lac Leman, gold trim and chandeliers.
We are having a party, lots of wine, beer, on the TVs are football games. England is playing Portugal, and across the front of the blue and white shirts of the England team is written “DOWNING”. The Portuguese also have a name.
Another crowd, of Americans this time, shows up. I don’t know this crowd, but one of them comes over, points to a TV.
“Who’s playing?”
“Portugal,” I reply.
But he says, “No, it’s Turkey.” And close up, I see he’s right.
I go over to a table to get more alcohol.
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Siobhan and I are at a hospital. We both have a disease. Cancerous? Siobhan has psoriasis, she has it spread across her bare chest and towards her arms and shoulders. You cannot see it on me.
The nurse leads us to a waiting room, more like a shower changing area with a curtain. She tells us to sit on the swimming noodles, one each.
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A game with a tennis ball, a soccer ball and a rugby ball. You had to get each ball over the line. Their coach was leading them to victory. No one was leading us, but when I tried to take a stand they did not explain the rules. It was raining, I kicked the soccer ball over their goal line. But it had to be the tennis ball first.
So I kicked the tennis ball over the line and they started laughing.
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