“In the morning a man walks with his whole body; in the evening, only with his legs”


Finishing work earlier this morning I took a taxi ride home with the Indian Tristan.  We spoke briefly and for the remainder of our journey we said nothing at all.  Pulling into the bus stop I thanked my driver and took the three flower arrangements and the one can of beer from the boot of the car.  Home at last, I sat alone in the cold kitchen and drank my one Spanish beer and smoked the last of four yellows from my crumpled pack.  The time said 02.35.  Tired, I climbed the stairs to my warm bed and my warm wife.

 * * *

The alarm woke me at 06.10 and I thought of snoozing for a few minutes more.

Gotta get up, gotta get out
Gotta get home before the morning comes . . .

Kissing wifey as I dressed for the return journey to work I told her I loved her and would see her later this afternoon.   I resumed smoking almost dead cigarettes, drinking chocolate coffee when the text arrived to tell me that my driver was outside. 

* * *

7 hours of work but not much to do, I’ll take a coffee and smoke a yellow, today’s morning is beautiful.

 * * *

 . . . and my life is too.


kornafookinrama . . . it seems i’ve swallowed a fookin’ self help book, with lots of positive thinking followed by positve action  eventually leading to self help suicide.

This entry was posted in Dublin, Economy, Firhouse, Ireland, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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