Reading serious literature lights me up. Darkness does the same. I went to the river at midnight with a torch. I took a book.
Better to be out in the dark and know I was there than to wake up in the morning and not know. Not remember.
Sitting reading in a corner. Tall fences behind me, but far enough behind me that that I could not have heard a voice from the other side.
I heard a voice.
I knew that there was no-one there. I would have seen them walking. Even wrapped up in the tiny pool of light, alone with the book – I would still have seen them.
The voice told me that JB has to go. I start preparations now.
I begin to suspect that I am a sleepwalker.
When I showered this morning I found a dark-brown substance crusted around my fingernails and deep scratches on my face. Part of me hopes that the two are directly related, but the fact that I have no nails speaks to some other explanation.
I have no memory of anything but deep, dreamless sleep.
I trust you understand me.
Had a jolly old time this evening walking behind a young woman at dusk along a quiet road whistling Psycho Killer.
You remember – the song from the nineteen seventies by Talking Heads:
Qu’est-ce que c’est
Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away.
Well, obviously she had never heard of it because she did not turn around to look. Except for once – right at the end, just before the road went into the darkest, loneliest place where the only company is trees and undergrowth.
But by then it was too late.
I had already turned off along a side road.
I had seen her get her mobile phone out. Modern technology is such a bane.