Bloomsbury Freshers’

Romance

Along the lampshade street, people streaming from windows and black ties floating outside open doors
They turn like small falling waves glinting in the moonlight, crashing softly
Seeping through the doors surrounded in spray touching walls and jackets
Dully descending stairs or glittering swimmers leap up steps, fly along corridors, drinking food
In bright rooms with yellowed sand wallpapers dripping heat, repeating sound and the buzz and cackle, laughing bobbling seas smiling warmly in aquarian colours, lit by a setting sun.
The bubbling room sighs and coos, an olympian mons spirals by the door for gods and goddesses drifting higher into the clouds, but the air blows through the room humming a friendly tune.
I find myself talking to Venus and have to apologise for everything. She radiates seductive madness and blinks disappointment at me with long lashes, condemns with swirls of golden curls and some young Odin whisks me away to find a friend.
The friend looks like someone I know and Odin goes to tend ravens, witches, warriors and devout followers. The monks of his mischievous mind.
Speaking gladly, thinking sadly. Watching waves washing on the sandy beach. Away from mountains, ice fields and Georgian townhouses. Some sun setting into the night, trees, wine glasses, rocks and bookcases. A crab scuttles by with wonder in its claws and little leglets. Stars shine from skies and windows. Words willing away the dusk into evensong and electric birds chirping.
She smiles. The sun holds its set somewhere, glowing around.
“Have you really not been clubbing?”
“No, not really. Not much at all.”
“M’okay.”
There’s cigar smoke outside. And espresso. Drinks inside. People everywhere. Romantic beaches wander listlessly along roads and through alleyways, perch on forgotten steps, and wanderers watch themselves in gilted mirrors, wink at shadows, marvel at the shapeliness of their own noses breathing wistful spirits.
The night goes down a beautiful, healthy young drain, past gods and godesses blinking between places, waves pushing, birds slowly singing morning tunes for headaches, confessions. And all these people want are their friends.

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