Thursday, October 16, 2014

"She came in through the hostel window. . ."

I think I'll take a walk, leaving Liverpool.

Double gin and tonic please? 12:35 AM, their second stop on Mathew street. Saturday: full swing, full moon, glass half-full atmosphere, where stilettos and cuff links mingled with combat boots and wedding rings. 

Where are you parents, love, certainly you’re too young to be here.  Are you European? The 60-year-old sport-jacketed man pulled over a stool, accompanied by two others, most likely his mates since grade school having a lads’ night out.   The sticky coasters became occupied by three glasses of Guinness, the foam perfectly untouched by eager lips.  Giggling, she turned her focus back on the dancers, elbowing her travel companion.

The modpodged walls reverberated out-of-tune karaoke, allowing the middle-aged English to twirl on the floor between sips and whispers.  The 20-something wallflowers soaked in their energy. That’s it - the ticket to life, the ticket to ride. Simplicity. Simplistic happiness.  It was tempting to join the locals in their waltz, body language becoming the universal accent.

As their glasses emptied and eyelids drooped, the pair weaved through the effervescent crowd, craving a place to call home for the night. 


Her room reeked of man and she wondered if she was safe in her corner; she clutched a phone in sweaty palms, gluing it to her chest in concealment of a passport and cash.

Unwashed, her messy hair splayed on the pillow, weaving glitter into the cotton threads. How did I get here? her ears rang with existentialism, drowning out the drunken confessions and troubadour rhythms wallowing through the cracked March window.  The glow of fairy lights and pub signs made shadows dance across the stone cold walls, soaked in the fingerprints of strangers.  Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band. It’s wonderful to be here, it’s certainly a thrill.

Rattling with the snores of a French native, the tangled sheets behind her masked a disheveled traveler, his lone Sperry the monster under the bed revealing his gender.  She slithered further under her duvet, protecting her foreign heart from unfamiliarity. 

She traced a figure 8 in the air, a ghostly image melting into the blackness. Restless. To infinity and beyond.  With a heavy exhale she released her shoulder’s tension, smiling and remembering who she was as she drifted into wonderland. Gonna let it burn, burn, burn, burn.


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