a fiesta of charms

...Gagu...
...the light scent of a strawberry perfume emanated whilst the
hypnotic voice of Madras sounded...the words in hindsight
formed no real meaning, utterings only able to be deemed
pseudo intellectual of thermal dynamics, language and then
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPoseidon...Aly
moved out of the room half way through this
monologue, though the poetic nature of the perfume seduced...
...walking through the busy streets (it was around six pm) all the
different people sojourning to alternative destinies, the drift of a
pool of birds congregated around the edge of the tube station, the
obliteration of politeness in an exchange full of back slapping and
innuendos, the light smear of tomato sauce on a bagel eaten by a
man in a fluorescent coat and hard hat concentrating on listening
to a Radio playing some sort of pop song unable to be deciphered
over the traffic disbanding and forming...
...Gagu is stood outside the Pub staring at something within the
Pub like a religious ornament, a Priest at his own guilty
erection...soon the explanation summoned a reaction only to be
deemed quaint...the drip of an emptying glass of beer against the
wooden bar...Gagu has this sort of personality, much more
meaningful than scores of Madras’ Poetry, if at all it can be called
that, Gagu instead delighted in the periphery of existence in a
way that could only magnify life...the mouths of deaf people
whilst speaking enabling ideas on beauty...the slow fall of a red
dusk...the distant sounds of overhearing conversations...the life
of a roll of toilet tissue...
...Gagu moves against the Bar without touching the Guiness and
Mojito and touches a man’s face that we would soon come to
know as Jim, gently prodding at loose skin draped around the ear
and then upper neck...Jim didn’t say much until he asked what
Gagu was doing..?
...Jim, more at ease, soon explained that he had fought in the
Falklands War and that he had trouble organising his attitudes to
ordinary existence, which led to numerous days spent in near
empty pubs, long walks towards his flat at the top of Dalston,
empty cupboards in a kitchen seldom used...Gagu started to cry,
19