February 2nd: Rescue Me.

Rescue me hold me in your arms.
Fontanella Bass he’d only recently found that. It seemed oddly appropriate, though no one seemed to be answering the call to arms. His body rattled with the tram but his mind turned to the monkey. 
'’do you think it’s obvious? '' 
'’what? ''
'’that I’m lonely’'
' 'probably... You have a lot of smart friends’'
The monkey spun the glass, he took that as an invitation to continue. 
'’it’s kind of an oxymoron if you think about it. '' he smirked. The real world echoed SUIR ROAD, just to remind him that he was stuck. 
'’what is? '' 
'’a lot of smart friends and I still feel this way’'
'’deep’'
'’fuck you’'
The monkey grinned, swilled the bottom of the glass knocked it back and bristled. 
'’so how was Amsterdam? '' the grin hadn’t budged. His eyes focused on the bar mirror
'’three guesses’'
'’back on the drink were we? "
No answer (odd that he couldn’t even address his own fiction) 
'’11" 
ABBBEY STREET
A respite of sorts. The walk between the lines was pleasant, sun, humanity a complete checklist. The best part was the slide guitar player at the top of Grafton, worthy of a euro to him apparently. Well that and the assault of memory conjured by the increasingly capable weak pathetic part of himself. 
Various hostage like sentences such as '' not looking for a relationship’’, and '' it’s ok’' usually followed by '' just thought you should know’' slithered around his mind. Her increasingly sweet but panicked (he assumed they were, he wasn’t quite able to remember) excuses of I’m too drunk, but I know you and finally why did you have to do this? Which felt an awful lot like lashes from a whip. Around 85 to 92.
Maybe the monkey was better, he took his seat at the Green, allowing himself one final self deprecating thought involving a blonde woman, then answered
'’11’'
The grin widened '' watch out ladies’'
The weight in the pit of his stomach added a kilo. 
Oscar Peters on, I got it bad and that aint good had replaced Bass on his mnemonic jukebox. His body was in that poxy mace. The bar in his mind was preferable. Dylan was knocking on heavens door again and he sympathised. 
'’so who was the nights lucky winner? '' 
'’London. '' 
'’oh big fish, there were other men then? '' 
'’yeah '' 
'’Beat our chest a little did we?’'
A lightning bolt that sounded an awful lot like a sentence cut through the smoke of the room. 
'’if you get with the Polish guy I will be very offended '' the glass in his hand smashed. He left the shards in. 
The monkey nodded. 
'’that won’t help, dick move. ''
He caught his reflection in the bar mirror. It shattered. 
' 'I don’t know why you’re getting pissy about, it 's your fault. I suppose you’re hoping it wasn’t?' '
Yes... He squeezed his hand 
A look of distaste passed the monkeys face. '' I have to clean up when you leave asshole. '' 
'’so you ruined her weekend by emotionally blackmailing and conversationally hi jacking her? 
"it wasn’t like that '' 
The monkey fixed his gaze, he couldn’t hold it. '' Yeah it was’' He pulled a bottle from somewhere and refilled his glass. '' I’d offer you some but you might try and fuck me. '' He let that sink in.’' .... Seems to be your thing lately, I’m such a nice guy please sleep with me. '' 
He smashed the monkeys face into the bar. 
A muffled snigger made its way up '' touched a nerve?’'
He let the monkey up. It was pointless. Dylan tanged along with knocking on heavens door. 
The monkey fixed it’s face. '' So any upside? "
'’I don’t think she knew what to make of it’'
'’she was being sweet, she turned you down get over it. '' 
'’I just don’t know why I did that it’s not me.’'
A look of gentle accord challenged the monkeys usual smirk. 
'’true enough... Awful honest.... The gorilla will be happy. 
The both turned to look at the giant crimson ape that was sleeping on a table behind them. '' doubt that '' he managed. '' there was that one moment with Marvin Gaye. He remembered how the song had come on. Let’s get it on. 
'’I swear to God that’s not intentional '' it had seemed charming at the time, now it just seemed awkward. 
He was done. He’d fucked up. The monkey was right, no excuse would fix it. 
He stood up. His hand had stopped hurting of course it had, he never was capable of punishment. 
the monkey looked at him flicking his cigar backwards into the dark. 
'’Still miss him?’'
'’Another thing I can’t fix, see you Frank. '' 
'’fuck you. ''
Yeah that was right he came too at 18:52 at Kingswood, having successfully avoided work, buried his hate, and prepared an unburdening with Kells. 
He was left with rejection his most feared thing. 
He realised he wrote this in February. A fuck up like all the rest.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated He, Himself & The Monkey’s story.