At room with window

Trick of light. The shine of the river you see it’s because of the angle it flows into the room rather than being obtrusive it’s an oblique light.

It slides across table speed by slicked plastic flow up and over sauce bottles hit unpolished patch distort distort.

Too high over river she is quiet and the height is what makes her quiet because she has a small complaint to set against the big river and slowly the lights nulls the complaint draws it from her before quietly suffocating each inch as it emerges. On this river in 586 AD Hengist roared prayers and the two parties, blood vengeance sworn surged into the shallow part and bloodily collided where today the Hart’s Ford has the luckiest fruity in town and I won five seven to none on the trot before a vacuum salesman from I think the three counties area did me with a sweet kiss to bottom baulk, and they hacked and screamed and skull bounced on the shallow gravel but of course that doesn’t matter now, not set against what the lad who deals with consumer finance at, I think, a car place, has found to fuck her over again with this week, apparently.

She has cheekbones high and silent and it needn’t be said my undying adoration over a period of years makes me a biased commentator perhaps lacking objectivity (but I do have a sense of history 1482 a blood feud over a Marian Aske led to a beheading onto soft cushions of beech and ash leaves and there 1782 proto-Suffragette suicide by a scorned Emily McElhone swift and sharp incision, blood falling on her mother’s campanula), but obviously I listen as I have little else to do, these days.

One sudden noise, a bird, a Tern, has flown into the window, and fallen. She doesn’t notice, which is odd as it was pretty loud. I watch her lips as she talks. In 1902 the railway bridge was built. Twelve men died during its construction. The bodies of two still lie in the pilings.

I have heard versions of this story before. I have the ability to nod and I keen quietly long in a high and unheard song which is mostly vowels with the odd m or n but you know what I mean don’t you. I nod and keen, keen and nod and note the things I usually note like light and cheekbones (I have a notebook, the details of light vary but the details of cheekbones rarely do. Some of my favourite instances of light ever: Blue Pool, Dorset, 1985 deep warmth and deep summer, a Berber village in Tunisia 1988 the brightest and harshest glare reflected from the whitest walls bleaching further in the hottest heat, from Ruff woods looking towards skelmersdale, blitzed on pills, summers of 2001-2004 gradations in light from twilight through to full daylight, always depressingly magic round the edges, depressing now that is, not then, obviously). Some of my favourite instances of cheekbones involve the same cheekbones merely in a variety of locations story runs over and around according to familiar parameters and involving usual excursions with brief lucid variations into precise detail which I can later recall to differentiate why this was different details of his job or when she explains at length what she was wearing but mostly it’s sighs from her and coffee and no fucking cigarettes for me any more, more’s the pity.

Disclaimer: I’ve allowed this. Should have explained years ago.

At window stunned bird at window slow river I love estuarine breadth and sweep makes people say cinematic makes me say big river, her voice growing shrill story clearly reaching climax sighing playing with plastic spoons look at her hazel hair escaping from bun black jumper loose pale shoulder bare this light is washed out I am in a bad indie film directed by a chainsmoking auteur with a hardon for his actresses this is awful I need air.

Quick excuses self deprecating smile lurch from door breathing and the slowing of thought and looking around slight slope in pavement faded posters pentitent drunk many usual sorts.

The bird’s attempting to drag itself away, moving in circles, one wing damaged I think. It’s making small cries. I wonder if there’s someone who can help. Then wonder if I can.
She’s at the door, looks furious, what are you going to do she says.