"Ashes Block Out The Sun..."

I try not to engage with people. Today, at the desk next to mine, was a conversation about which of two very well known fast food chains does the best chickenburgers. All I can do is hope it washes over me and I don't react. Rap the beat on the table, keep calm, I plug headphones in for a few minutes and listen to the song Hotel Womb by the Church.

Friday always crawls. The weekend is within reach: on the one hand, it shouldn't matter as most weekends I don't do much (it's not uncommon for me to not have a single in-person conversation over the two days) but it's my time to do as I please. This one is worse than normal, as a friend of mine is going through his last day here. This is very bad news, as conversations with him are one of a handful of things that break up the seconds.

Now, all I do is stare at the wall, wondering if I do it long enough some complex pattern will emerge, like a concrete Turin shroud. Elsewhere, there's groups of people stranded in airports because of an "act of God". The song that finishes reminds me of a guy I know was due to go to LA today, but his flight was cancelled. This eases my jealously a little, though I then feel guilty for being so in the first place. I wonder if I really tried, I could be a better person and in turn escape this somehow.

Outside, the sun beats over the sprawl. People keep commenting on it, that summer is early. I think of last summer, of half-baked plans unfurling. A memory of being sat on the end of my hometown's pier, staring out to sea with an empty space next to me. That leads to me a similar moment six years earlier, when there was a difference. It seems more like sixty years - I barely recognise those two people and I'm sure she'd agree too.

Enough. I do some checking, make a phone call. The idea is good. Two tickets to see Burgess and Lever from the Chameleons at FAC 251 in June.