Gone To The Chateau
It is now mid-September, and the cool breeze predicts what to come. The light rain recalls our first introduction, almost a year to the day. We met in Paris, she adored my style, “Picasso- esque, she remarked. The deal was sealed, her number instigated the affair. She was on her way to me when she was involved in a crash. “One too many” the police said, the other driver survived without a scratch. At least she died instantly; I was mentioned in her will.
Neon girls wink as I walk by,
“want some fun honey“?,
“just come over here handsome“.
I feign interest as I glance at the entrance ,
the gorilla standing at his post.
The blue ladies try even harder ,
“there’s no admission charge honey“,
but I just walk away.
Ignore The Appeal
The charity shop didn’t close due to lack of custom, but that’s the official cause. The actual cause, greed, yes greed was the diminishing factor. Funny, it closed due to the need of money, but this was an obsessive need. Sisters Imelda and Ursula Ovens were practically joined at the hip, wore the same outfits,
lived together, even once dated the same guy. But because he almost drove them apart, swore to remain celibate for the rest of their lives. Oh and they despised cats, couldn’t stand the fur balls. The sight of a kitten would drive them barmy.
Imelda the eldest of the two, secured the positions claiming to care for all orphaned babies. So for the past five years, they ran the shop in a small village, somewhere in the west of Ireland .Promises of promotions with raised wages, and fancy new cars is what probably pushed the sisters. They would put a price on anything that came in to the small musty shop, which was situated on the main street. If you were to stand still for two minutes they would try to sell you, that’s how desperate they were.
Head office demanded no mistakes were to be made, the sisters were frightened by this, they practically cowered when the supervisor would pay them a visit . One time they found themselves a new volunteer who seemed to be more reliable than the other slaves, I mean volunteer’s, he’d often make a mistake while serving, but they had to pay out of their own pockets. When he didn’t turn up they really got angry, once the whole village flooded and the shop was destroyed. Yep, guess who got the blame?. The shop was simply horrible, old musty mountains of clothes and books that would never be shifted, the volunteer had enough he was warned not to make this decision. You’ll ruin your life they said, but he had enough of the crappy, god awful ,mind numbing back breaking work. At the end of the day his clothes would smell like the shop.
So he was finally free, but some were jealous because he had no mortgage or other financial responsibilities. Oh did I tell you that he was being paid to do this fucking work. So the shop finally went belly up, because the sisters and this so called charity only cared about money. They craved money, this charity is not a charity, it’s just a business disguised as a charity, and they deserve this and things will get worse. So please don’t give to this charitable organisation, it’s being run by money grubbing twits, who are just pretending to be nice.
Things never became sour for the former employee, he went on to find fame as a fabulous filmmaker, who frequently visited France and Fiji. He never worried himself about money, and grown up problems. Most adults are twits and to be one is simply absurd, so he does his best to avoid their company and less to avoid their stares. I once met him and asked him would he change anything about the world, he simply said “no it’s fine the way that it is, the adults are the ones who should change”. And he then bade me adieu. As far as I know he is still alive, but not like you or I, what ever could that mean?. Guess we’ll never find out.