Short Note

His voice is the voice of an angel drinking himself to death at the far corner of a watering hole somewhere between truth and malice, somewhere between this world and the…other…thing that looks,feels and smells like a world, but is much more and much less than that. His voice reveals intimate details, secret blueprints and master plans of that other world that we often mistakenly name paradise, his voice a worn-out gash in the air around you, heavy with the suffocating smell of cheap whiskey and the liberating smell of what tomorrow might be. The secrets bubble out, encrusted with a layer of creamy vomit that, in other times, fairer times, more unreasonable times,  might have been picked up and smeared on foreheads as benediction.

And the world moves on and does not pay heed.



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