Walking after you.

My feet played a symphony on the broken cobbles. Crunch click, crunch click. It was all I could focus on as I was strolling towards home. Its like my brain wouldnt let me think big. Wouldnt let me figure anything out except Crunch Crunch Crunch, the sound of my feet on the gravel, all my weight pushing down on the world. Halfway from home as the drizzle rolls down my neck and fogs up my glasses. It was about half past twilight and the lack of light made the world that bit more depressing. I had been sharing this jaunt home with the Irish weather for the past six months, the subdued lollop home from work. I stared down at my pants, the slow crawl of a muddy stain up my left leg. I was watching it grow, My newest pet.
I was about to pass by the window. About equidistant from home and work, there was a random window, 2nd floor, far left in a group of 3 adjoined houses. The bushes under it in the garden were empty of leaves, and its skeleton seemed to be pointing up at the window; this is maybe why sub-consciously I chose that one, but every day I would pass it and look up, hoping that one day the curtain would be open, that one day my millions of questions about its owner would be answered. That maybe each time I would look up there was someone looking back through the tiniest crack in the curtains, that maybe I was sharing a secret smile with a someone, that maybe someone would emerge, a hand, a tiny move in the curtain. I looked up, and it stood again, impassive and unmoving, large and awkward. I hated being a dreamer. I walked on and cursed my imagination.

Was thinking about this old badge I used to have. "I like the pope, the pope smokes dope" as the man himself was busy checking out in the Vatican. I couldnt even tally how my night was going to go, and there's pontiff, choking and coughing and pulling himself slowly up to heaven. Like a kid on a gym rope, one foot in front of the other, and no looking back, because there is no coming back. Him and Prince Rainier. Would be hand in hand, but you know how the church feels about homosexuals. But every time that the church even mentions homosexuals, they spout on about sex before marriage, co-habiting before marriage, artificial contraception, and a million other things we do outside of marriage that everyone everywhere does. But the pope makes a speech slamming us for it, and the next day you pick up a newspaper and all you read is "Pope slams homosexuality", or "Catholic church slams gay marriage." Why do they never say "Pope slams gay marriage, and also 99% of heterosexual activity all over the world. Why cant they be honest about it?
Prince big ears is getting married to Queen horse face too, and we just don't care do we? All these old world rock stars who have simply stopped mattering and are bowing out one after another, choking and croaking their way to history books whilst we worship, well, drugs and druggies. I wish there were some more answers out there tonight, more than the sound of my feet, more than the wait for a drink and chasing that feeling that we love but can never ever hope to describe. The cocktail to make my head spin, the dreams wrapped inside intoxication. Short way from home and I hear a dull banging sound. I glance around, quickly, because why would anyone bang at me? I see nothing, nobody, no door opening or light on at a window, just a car in a drive, and the thump thump again. It could be coming from there, but walking is disorienting and i cant tell for sure where the noise is coming from. Even as the noise stops, I get flashes in my head of a prisoner trapped in the boot, or a hostage struggling for escape, frantically thumping the car in the vain hope that anyone would hear. I walk on, step inside the door as I hear a car horn sound in the distance, close the door and begin my evening.