Lunch

Monday afternoon, inhaling, exhaling spring foreboding heavens forbidding any dalliance at this juncture the lines dangling, footsteps wandering dream layers dislodging certain connections making notes, coffee, the waitress watching.

Your friend hasn’t shown?
Tied up I suppose, (hopefully not inextricably).
Another coffee?
No thanks.

Lucy finally arrived, apologised then ordered battered fish. My mind flashed to seal clubbing, then to the Greek salad, then to pondering if we’ll make it through lunch without offending each other’s sensibilities. There was an air of unreality about this meeting and all the previous proposals to exhibit my work that seemed to meet with unforeseeable difficulties, then each proposal becoming more ambitious than the last.

The waitress kept hovering around or glancing my way from behind the servery with a look of complicity. No doubt wondering about my relationship with my young luncheon companion. But my mind kept slewing sideways, sliding on the slippery incline of Lucy’s ever changing realities.

But I held steady, if for no other reason that to finish lunch in peace. My attention wandered about the architectural anomalies of the room. A room bearing the scars of many ill conceived renovations. Lunch was soon over, we shared the bill, we shook hands, she said she’d give me a call - inhale, exhale. Then I was back in the car heading out of town, a cool breeze through the open window, Coltrane jazz, loud enough to put a smile on my face.

Hans Pocket is a celebrated ventriloquist and raconteur. He divides his time between Hydja, Iceland and Krate City, AU where he works as a trolly collector.