THE LAST TIME I SAW RICHARD

IMG_8509

Richard was here every Saturday night – Heebies, a bar you’d belong if you were trying to be numb. If you made it inside with that sad excuse of a fake ID you have, you’d be exploited to a parliament of wannabes, sourly downing their cans of Red Stripe. To your left, more of them, laughing too loud – their cans half empty and warm. To the right, them again but in ten years’ time – empty cans.

Continue reading “THE LAST TIME I SAW RICHARD”