bill

I worked with this guy two summers in a row, well he was my boss, but the whole job was childish and we were all just kids really. idiots. it was mostly fun...
you wouldn't get away with it these days.
he was slightly rakish, like a seedy appeal... a sort of withnail and I thing, if you get me

bad teeth, posh blonde hair pushed back in untidy handfuls
round glasses, impish grin, roll-up fags, public school (wasted?) accent and dead-men's trousers
(charity shop specials)

women liked him,
even young pretty ones; charm: you can't buy it

he rented a playstation with the company's money and sat cross-legged under his desk playing it
that way nobody in the hall outside could see him if they
looked into the room

the second summer, he had this huge party in his raggedy garden, drunk
I fell asleep in a plastic lawn chair and
woke up handcuffed to it, of course the keys
went walkies and that was a fucking adventure I can tell you.

I didn't stay angry long, you
just couldn't with him

one christmas they called me, well it was
boxing day and I was like, who calls on boxing day
why would they call now and before she spoke I knew it was bad
and she said it's about bill and I
knew what was next

so the funeral was soon after and
it turned out on christmas eve he'd told each of the few people
close to him that he was with somebody else and then
ended his life quietly

it was all ex-girlfriends, yes some were
pretty and (still) young and they didn't get on and
I'd done my bit and
I just needed a drink on my own

at the cricketers I knew the landlady, kind of a friend from that whole scene around town and she
said why the suit, have you been to a funeral?
yes, I said.
shit, shit, sorry, she said
and I was like, don't worry but
I got a free drink out of it
and thought for fuck's sake it's like he's still here