Songdogs
“They hang in a riot of colours amongst a dozen mothball bags. The cupboard was open in his room this morning when I looked in before going downstairs. Hems spilled on the floor, edges that were unsewn over the years, continually dropped another inch, always lengthening, until even her skirts covered her calves. The sleeve of an old adelita dress stuck out. Some blouses. A dressing gown hung with one shoulder on a hanger. Her sarapes neatly folded on the shelf beside some coiled belts. I stared ...at the old man asleep in the bed, the marmalade cat on the pillow beside him. His hat was perched on the bedside table, beside a full bottle of Bushmills. There was a bit of a smell in the room – he has bad gas these days. Finds it hard to control. Let one go at the kitchen table last night.
‘Oops!’ he said. ‘Barking spider around here somewhere!’ But I could tell he was embarrassed by the smell – even got a bit of a flush in his cheeks as he walked upstairs to his bed. But at least he sleeps.MoreLess
‘Oops!’ he said. ‘Barking spider around here somewhere!’ But I could tell he was embarrassed by the smell – even got a bit of a flush in his cheeks as he walked upstairs to his bed. But at least he sleeps.MoreLess
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