�And it better had be funny; that last lot of garbage you fed me (by the smell coming from his room it appeared he was preparing himself a second helping) about the pigmies attempts at taking over the world (my most recent excuse for non-payment of rent) only got me a couple of titters during my Tuesday night slot!�
I then told Jack something I�d never told him before: the truth. I started with the broader than broad broad (Kerr�s daughter - like you need reminding! Sheesh!), followed that with the trip to Jefferson Tract, then how I�d ended up a train and ultimately spent the night in a jail cell in Cankers Creek, and finally rounded off with today�s exploits consisting of how I�d reacquainted myself with Billy Maguire and my ride home.
His face, which housed so many scars criss-crossing his ugly mug that made it an identical road map for the Pacific Heights area of San Francisco, didn�t move when I�d finished.
�How�s that going to get me any laughs?�
I shrugged and then, to bring an end to the sudden bout of honesty, I was back to lying. �I�ll go and get you your rent.�
That part he laughed at.
Far from being the most shipshape human being in the world the interior of my office presented a scene that was rather obvious that I hadn�t been the last person to leave. The desk had been toppled onto its side, so too had the chair. The contents of the filing cabinet (which was nothing more than old newspaper cuttings - the client�s liked to see a brimming filing cabinet. Set them at ease. Looked the part) carpeted the floor. None of this bothered me. What did was the shards of glass that had once made up a liquor bottle. I dropped to my knees and the heading: CHI HUA HUA TAUGHT TO TAP DANCE smiled up at me from one of the old newspaper cuttings.
I suddenly found myself thinking about my past. I was never mistreated as a child, just given the odd, light slam every now and again to keep me in tap. I didn�t ponder too long on that subject however, as doing that depressed me. Instead I thought about my future, but that depressed me even more. Eventually I gave up and concentrated on thinking of a blank piece of paper.
Did it ever snow in the Sahara Desert? I wondered, absent-mindedly a dazed look on my face. I was in a trance and it felt wonderful. Nothing mattered anymore. The whisky bottle had been the straw that broke the camel�s back, nor did mine feel too good for wear either. Everything worth living for had vanished with the contents of that bottle. I no longer cared whether I cracked the case or not, nor whether I lived or died. Anyway, there was no doubt as to where I�d be going once my head hit the pillow for the long sleep - let�s put it this way, I needn�t bother packing my thermals.
I just wanted to remain here, like this, back resting against the far wall in my ransacked office for the rest of my days. The sunlight, like my concerns, slowly began to ebb away. If I would have left it another ten minutes then it would have been so dark that I wouldn�t have had enough light to ever notice the photograph of the chunky, suited individual below which the caption declared him as none other than Joe Kerr.
I abstracted it from the mess, though still in that dream-like trance, knowing that this couldn�t be for real. On closer inspection the photograph showed Joe shaking hands with the mayor who too was not exactly rake-thin. Too chubbies shaking hands - I was suddenly reminded of the time I had visited the zoo and saw an elephant with its trunk linked to the tail of the elephant in front of it.
The winner of this year�s Travis Mathew�s Award for Industry went to Mr Joe Kerr (pictured). The award, which is in its fourth year after being introduced in 1934...
Blah, blah, blah�
I started to pay attention again when I arrived at a line that read:
Mr Kerr, of 657 Westbridge Lake, Sunnydale Avenue, Bayshore, San Francisco�
And with that I was off. Hurtling down the stairs, caring little for making any noise as I passed Jack Meen�s room, caring even less for the demands of where his rent was and caring, if was possible, even less as to the threat he shouted regarding my office and how it was no longer mine. I replied with a suggestion consisting of five words as to what he should do with his office, though I doubt anyone has a rectum that size.