The drunk fool and the artist
by Ricardo Medley
“Do you want a drink,” he offers. I wave my hand in first response, “Sorry, I don’t drink.”
“Hmm, suit yourself,” gulp, tilting the glass he rushes it down, “Ahhh…Well then, what say are your pleasures my friend ?” He leans forward, the breath of booze alone was enough to intoxicate me.
“Time,” I wave my hand for dramatic effect. A hidden gesture, in attempt to also wave the smell from my nostrils.
“Time?” he’s complacent, and I couldn’t help but smile at my accomplished intent, “Clarify!”
The ol’ mead made the chap quite demanding. Good. His mind was warped for the molding.
“Don’t mind if I do. For, time is the truest artist,” I smile, as he beads his eyes at me, suspicious of my cryptic words. Stroking his beard, “You don’t say.”
“But I do say, my friend, I do,” I beseech, pausing again for dramatic effect, “Time never stops stroking forward ol’ friend, it can even make sex seem anti climatic.”
“Ha!” He heckles, slaps the bar, “Never in my life my friend, never in my life!”
“Well then, you don’t have to take my word for it. Just ask your wife.”
Welcome to the world in my head