City of Storms
Nothing was clear cut and there was electricity in the air. I was
engaged to be married but she liked to sleep around. I’d had
enough of stormy relationships, so I just let it go.
Here, storm clouds rested and refueled and played the field, you could hear them rolling around the streets, storm cocks banging into each other, bereft of manners and all decency.
My job was Stress Therapy for out of control clouds. It was a tough job with no thanks and their egos sparked and crackled and hit out at trees. The world was their playground and they didn’t care who got in their way, their worth or their right to fair treatment. How I didn’t kick the shit out of them, I don’t know, but my job was to untangle their entanglements and show them a better way.
Melodian was custodian of the ‘The Grapes of Wrath’, a cellar bar shaped like a blues harmonica, selling Rosé and Chablis and Real Ales. She went like a yo-yo on a Jolly Rodger hammock, half-cut on Budweiser, compliant, and consented and fully in charge.
I’d only dropped in to raffle my charabanc and catch up on the news of dirty politics. “Haven’t you got a bar to run?”, I said, showering in Vodka and Lime.
“ Aren’t you engaged? ” she said, massaging my broad shoulders.
“ Some say the world is written and published and we just re-enact. I say the story is interactive, the author still hesitant, changing his mind and changing it back”.
I withheld the towel from her and looked at her deeply. “ What is love? ” she said. Just then, the clouds were banging about in the beer cellars, shouting obscenities to anyone who was different.
“ It’s not anything they would know ” I said “ the world is off it’s head with hatred but I think it can be fixed in time ”.
“ People are storm clouds ” she said, “ dark with tension, entangled and banging about, but some have achieved slow release through creative endeavour, generosity of spirit, batten down sex and a full bodied wine” .
I was in no position to argue. The author had drank all the wine!
Text by Trev Teasdel