been to the open Mike he’s saying. I’m hammered now bbut as you are here. The Sirian lynx punctures the flesh with teeth and lunches on the bared nipple from the wet t shirt the deck raves flah great jumps of mind leaop into eternity the poet signs a hello to jeane and there are more shots now on the bar, I swoop into the back ally for a smoke, she makes her way to the toilet, I see the opportunity we have is limited but only in time. We press up in the cubicle together our bodies and hearts rushing with the illicit and the subjective experience we are having of transcendence masked by the look in other peoples eyes, we know we are one. One at the bar for the Indian with his friend. Two at the bar for the queer and the Joker. Three on the bar for the Postman and the drunk. Five slip into nighties and rally a cry to the disco lights and the violet flame absorbns us all, from continent to hiding place, we reveal all secrets. “I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air,” Kev’s been banned from Millwall for a decade and the last match he is telling me was the big one against the Hammers. He has promised me a dafe escoprt into the Blue Triangle at a future date. I want to tell the Northerners a fer home truths. As the lIverpublican laughs and asks me if he has poured my pint alright I say and see he has recognized me as a Royal. Ah great Kindgom of Sumer come again.

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