Times at a distance, times without touch,
Greed forms the habit of asking to much,
Followed at bedtime by builders and bells,
Wait 'til the doldrums which nothing dispels.
Idly, mentally, doubtful and dread -
Who runs with the beans shall go stale with the bread.
Let me lie fallow in dormant dismay
Tell me tomorrow, don't bother today.
Fucking ada! Fucking ada!
Fucking ada! Fucking ada!
Tried like a good 'un, did it all wrong
Thought that the hard way was taking to long
To late for regret or chemical change;
Yesterday's targets have gone out of range.
Failure enfolds me with clammy green arms,
Damn the excursions and blast the alarms,
For the rest of what's natural I'll lay on the ground;
Tell me tomorrow if I'm still around.
FUCKING ADA, FUCKING ADA!
New Years Day 1982
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD
Someone was banging on the door.
They’d been doing it for a while now, and showed no sign of stopping. If anything, it was getting worse.
Remus opened his eyes. His throat was dry and his head hurt. Actually, everything hurt; he’d been sleeping on the couch for weeks. Or months? Who cared. It was uncomfortable, but he couldn’t bring himself to enter the bedroom. Most nights he was too drunk to move anyway. Most days he was too drunk. He didn’t have hangovers anymore, just breaks between bottles. The kid next door didn’t mind running down to the off licence every other day for him, he was probably making a killing in spare change.
The banging continued.
“Remus?!” The muffled sound came through the door, and whoever was on the other side kept hammering away,
“Fuck off,” he shouted, his throat raw as sandpaper.
He reached for the nearest bottle on the floor beneath him and swigged from it. He nearly choked on the burning whisky, but managed to get most of it down, thank god. He couldn’t afford to waste one drop of oblivion.
“Remus? Let me in!”
It was Grant. He recognised the voice now - maybe the scent too, but his senses had been a mess, ever since… no, no no no….
He curled up, burying his head in the sofa cushions. He couldn’t talk to anyone. He couldn’t see anyone. He just needed to be left, to drink and to forget. Please .
“Fuck off!” He sobbed, yelling at the door, “Leave me alone!”
“No!” Grant shouted back, and the banging got louder still, a relentless, resounding thud-thud-thud. He was actually trying to break the door down, the stupid prat.
Remus half considered just casting a silencing spell. But he wasn’t sure where his wand was. He rolled over again, and got up.
There were bottles and cans all over the floor, and they clinked and rustled as he waded through. His arms and legs felt like lead. What day was it? It was cold. He rubbed his arms as he approached the door, shuddering against the chill. He’d left a window open somewhere in the flat and forgotten to shut it. Oh well.
