Yesterday I was back at my college for the English language test, and today I made a showing for revision classes. Everything lies deserted in between the few classes that remain for us.
The grand plan concocted by my fevered fifteen year old brain has come to its logical and final end. I wish I had some of that fifteen year old’s grit and determination. Who was he again? It feels so long ago. What was his trick? How could he be so focused and intent?
I am in the library at the moment, and have to hurry because today’s revision classes are over and the librarian wants to go home. Everything here is summer packed. The cash register is locked and empty. The row of computer screens on a desk are black without the forever-on white page with the intranet login on. The photo copier behind the librarian’s counter has been covered with a grey sheet. Later the library will be entirely dismantled and moved elsewhere.
I am going to team up with Ben. He’s probably actually waiting as I write this, and I don’t really want to keep him waiting because he has a habit of becoming impatient. If he becomes impatient, he starts to wander off, and eventually he’ll just go home – annoyed.
Together we will make downtown somewhat more dangerous because we’re like that. The wannabe intellectual and the burly poet will shake the foundations of art tradition and authority by sipping tea or coffee at Starbucks, looking fed up with the state of things.
Mark drove off to his parents in Wiltshire today, and he is going to spend the night there, and that means I will be all to myself in the house. Whatever will I do? Whatever should I do?