How did such talent and almost success crumble to dust, who knows, who sees disaster on the horizon? Well he does he could write chapter and verse. The slow descent, it never happens quickly. The forgotten meetings, missed opportunities all of which he insisted he only missed because he knew they were rubbish beneath his reputation and stature. He had he always said been a fool to consider any of them.
Sometimes he woke on the floor, sometimes he woke in bed it made no difference to him he could never remember how he got into bed or onto the floor. All he could tell anyone for sure was that both were empty and he would be loath to do that, what face another truth? Not a chance.
Slowly everything but the booze dried up until even booze had a price he couldn’t afford. He took work where he found it and tried to develop an old love into a new career. It didn’t work. It was respected but it wasn’t interesting to a wider audience.
Freelance is just another word for unemployed it doesn’t pay the mortgage. He lost jobs, then family. He struggled until eventually out of the new communications world he found new work it was anonymous and relatively menial but it paid well, its big advantage? He could do it blind drunk no one would know. It became a routine a long boring routine. He helped friends, he gained a different stature but he was bored
Until one day a new name appeared
Is this a beginning? Nah. Is it a flight of imagination? Who knows
No comments:
Post a Comment