Up early, head home. Ease into cold sheets, dream of a distant night in a small club in the heart of a foreign city. I was dressed toe up in raven black mohair, save for Stout brogues, white shirt, dark tie, silver watch and wicked smile. Champagne was cascading from the heavens like an argent waterfall with diamond flecks landing on my by now roughened tongue. I let the high priestess of poesy flutter to a halt and then I rose up onto the bar and declaimed.
The gods in their crumbling citadel wept, the angels of the golden pyramids blushed and the traitors of the devil’s empire plucked out their own eyes in anger. I finished. Dismounted. Ordered another bottle. Flung open the doors, invited the chilly hordes in from the street as I passed them on the stairs.
Soho was empty and my heart was full.
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