Some fog and the sun in the north sea sky, were busy doing their main task, bridging a rainbow between the continental and the Island, and I was thinking of my own way with the pack I’d borrowed from the local’s, put on my back, didn’t mind my foot track backwards and was walking the path blithely yet slowly on
I’d almost arrived
Maggie Spock, well-known beer brewer and domestic partner to the owner of Dorchester Motel, was pushing barrels down towards the wine cellar, when her eldest son was busy on his flat tire and his dad was nervously struggling fire and his damp matchsticks, which so happily crushed one by one, as if mocking the old guy’s shaking hands and his frosted eyes
Till I pass the scenes to get by the doorway, an unexpected gust of wind blew all through my coat over the jersey I’d worn and made me shiver of the sudden cold shock,
We were almost into the tenth month and the eastern wind was sneaking within my exposed body
some cop’s bike leant against the yard’s wall caught my eyes for a while and reminded me of the other night’s story, a well known poet had committed suicide in the room number “6”
“Concede” odor of the 46-year old was fairly confused with the permanent life of the seashells’ and the nostalgia scenting up through me by the sea
As soon as the old guy’s match was at last lit up, I cautiously stepped into the temporary residence, emptied my backpack from notes and briefs, my book and pockets of smoke, brought the ash tray from the kitchen off to the small table and sat with Maggie who was pouring my glass now, and tensely narrating me of the “frozen” night:
“she would never get out of her room, you know, except for the toilet and some beer, I’d give her the tray and cook all her favorite dish on my own, can’t still believe it”
Maggie paused, stood by the window as though looking for something special outdoors and continued “we had never had such experience for all years hosting here, I’m in such a shock now, she hang herself , you should know”
“you did know it?” she asked again
Line had been engaged for thirty minutes now; the officer was talking to the headquarters; it took no more than a while really for a black hearse to arrive; two chilly crews got it off very quickly as if the poet’s book was supposed to be very quickly wrapped up, as soon as possible
They zipped the tarp, locked out the corpse within her share of darkness, and soon left…
Till the bed time, I had the ash tray full with fags, and the tray of 6 bottles on it, filled of beer to the brim, with heavy, violent, swollen and punctured foam covering the mix of poignant alcohol and vivid malt’s light
Written By: Hadi Khojinian
