The Dualist - Chapter 3

In eager anticipation of untold wealth I opened the wallet as soon as I was safely away from the Gardaí’s prying eyes. And of course … surprise, surprise!

It was empty.

Not as much as a brass farthing, not a red cent in it.

I thought, that jammy fucker!

I opened the glove compartment and threw it into the back, disgusted at the thought of how even a dead man could rob me blind.

The rain had taken hold as I stopped into a Spar on the way home and was drawn towards a 12 inch ham and cheese pizza on account of the big ‘Only €2.99’ sticker emblazoned on the front of the box and a bottle of Campari and a bottle of 'no brand' vodka that I knew was neither cheap nor good but always did the job.

I drove home nodding my head to the frenetic rhythm of some tune whose name I didn’t know but which seemed to be playing on every station I switched to. I parked the car under a street lamp across the road from my shabby little rat flat and hoped it would escape the notice of the nearby gang of bored corner boys who were looking for something to vandalise.

Inside, I poured a Campari, topped it up with vodka and knocked back a hefty draft. I heated the pizza and set about trying to eat it without having the hot melted cheese stick to and burn the roof of my mouth. One bite in and I felt the familiar burn as the hot melted cheese stuck to the roof of my mouth. I poured another drink and chewed my way through the evening news. According to the man, Ireland remained fucked. I watched the weather. According to the woman, Ireland would remain cold, grey and sodden. I switched stations for a while and saw nothing of interest so I switched off the set altogether. I thought about the day just gone for a bit and concluded that apart from the dead man and the wallet it hadn’t been up to much. I poured another drink. And maybe another after that, I can’t remember or care less come to think of it.

My eyelids grew gradually heavier as I sat on the sofa and considered the pointlessness of such a complex evolutionary concept as a man sprawled on a couch and waited for the night to fade away to nothing just like the thousands of nights that went before it.

I remember dreaming of winning something but I can’t recall what – a medal, some money, a reprieve perhaps. God only knew.

© Séamus Bagnall 2014

More tomorrow ...