An old sky dimmed
An old sky dimmed, violet, light violated by dark; day broken on the wheel of night, as the earth turned towards evening. In the room where people waited like patients, stiff and nervous, quiet hubbubs throbbed, like heartbeats. Through the doubleglazed thickness of glass a squat jet sat on the flat spread of tar. Light was fading, going fast, blues into mauves and greys into blacks.
“I like the way it gets dark here..” pondered Hugh.
“What?” said Stewart
“It’s going dark, right, but not all at once.”
“So? That is what night does.”
“Well, it feels satisfying, it’s non uniform…”
“More beer.”
Inside the terminal waiting zone people glazed over, gazed and chatted, drank, smoked and worried, read, blew rings, drew pictures, described circles in their lives, and some cried. Tense nervous headaches too.
In bars, banks of screens flickered, slid silently, scrolling, changing, self writing the times of departure and arrival; lifeboats for worried passengers, confirming, reassuring…
In the nearest bar Hugh and Stew are, after a beer or two, after more beer, three or more they feel would be about right at this point in time.
“When you’re ready…”
“Two pints of heavy, and two whiskies please. Hey, Big Guy, cheer up, it can’t be all bad…”
The largish barman considered this, and suggested to Hugh;
“It probably is if you’re you.”
“Are you taking the piss?!”
“Not at all, I never joke about things as serious as life.”
“Leave it Hugh, lets just have our drinks, and be away,” suggests Stew, and they do.
“Shall we head for the hotel now, or maybe a few more drinks here, or in town…?”
In the taxi, Hugh discusses the barman’s behaviour with the driver, who agrees, but feels that he may have had a point, when as the pair leave the taxi, Hugh accuses him of being a Rangers fan, a bad idea in a number of ways, particularly for Hugh.
“I like the way it gets dark here..” pondered Hugh.
“What?” said Stewart
“It’s going dark, right, but not all at once.”
“So? That is what night does.”
“Well, it feels satisfying, it’s non uniform…”
“More beer.”
Inside the terminal waiting zone people glazed over, gazed and chatted, drank, smoked and worried, read, blew rings, drew pictures, described circles in their lives, and some cried. Tense nervous headaches too.
In bars, banks of screens flickered, slid silently, scrolling, changing, self writing the times of departure and arrival; lifeboats for worried passengers, confirming, reassuring…
In the nearest bar Hugh and Stew are, after a beer or two, after more beer, three or more they feel would be about right at this point in time.
“When you’re ready…”
“Two pints of heavy, and two whiskies please. Hey, Big Guy, cheer up, it can’t be all bad…”
The largish barman considered this, and suggested to Hugh;
“It probably is if you’re you.”
“Are you taking the piss?!”
“Not at all, I never joke about things as serious as life.”
“Leave it Hugh, lets just have our drinks, and be away,” suggests Stew, and they do.
“Shall we head for the hotel now, or maybe a few more drinks here, or in town…?”
In the taxi, Hugh discusses the barman’s behaviour with the driver, who agrees, but feels that he may have had a point, when as the pair leave the taxi, Hugh accuses him of being a Rangers fan, a bad idea in a number of ways, particularly for Hugh.
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