I'm hoping Herc and Carver come screeching around the corner for their evening dose of 'rip and run' but, instead, the most I can expect is Terry from Athenry to give them - these revelling studenty fuckers - the old...
"...would yis mind keeping the noise down a bit, lads? The fucker next door wants his beauty (read: staving off death) sleep and yis are being a bit loud and ye should really keep the music... Is that a keg? Sure I'll come in for the one. Don't tell the aul super on me, wink, nudge."
I've had it done to me or, more to the point, we had it done to us back in the 32A days. Some crank of a neighbour telling the guards on us, importuning us to turn down the Gloria Estefan mix-tape and to stop burning skateboards in the front garden, so I figure my time has come.
My time has come.
Listening to these wankers shouting through the styrofoam walls in the minor hours, some girl called Gráinne screeching every time Florence And The Fucking Machine sings that song offof Sex And The City, cutlery used as defence weapons, bottles crashing against cement floors, a boy called George that they all pretend to like, the one that cries and laughs indistinguishably, the caterwauls and scrapes and their marketing projects waiting for another night.
I've been listening to shit like this for three years and fourteen days so I, well, I cracked and rang the 'joy, or the station house aside it. That was an hour ago and there's no sign of a dimming so I reckon Terry - our friend the guard from Athenry - has moved on to the Jagermeister.
What's the rub, the tipping point?
That I didn't pre-empt this with a drowning.
That I didn't see it coming, this end of college hoopla, and fix myself with several drams of Jameson or a bottle of something called Valpolicella.
That I have no drink in the flat save for the potent mixture of licorice and vodka made for me by the ex and, good fuck, that's years old at this stage and I can't stomach aniseed.
That I'm on my fifth cup of tea and the piss is running out me unbid.
That my youth passed away from me the second I made that phone call tonight.
That I'm so lonesome I could dial.
Still. Still, I'm at the start of my holidays and on Monday I'm going to the quietest place on this island to quietly judge the young from afar. That'll be nice. I'll outdrink them too.
= = =
Fógra: I only put in the line 'That I'm so lonesome I could dial' because I liked its metre. No need to 'aww' and 'ahh' and tell me I'm delightful.
I know I am.