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By Root 6091 0

On Aston Quay the last buses leaving for the country. And clusters of men hunched in black overcoats sucking cigarettes, spitting and mean. With tongues of shoes hanging out like dogs' hungry mouths. I'd give anything for a drink now. Wearing this rag of despair and sorrow. Full of holes and dirty. Across my shoulders wet and cold. They say nothing lasts. It's all gray. Gray for what? Gray for rain. And pink for poodles. Colors for everything. They say, green for work. Now what is it? For Idleness? I think the black. You there below decks, run up me little black ensign. Well? For lust. What are they going to say? Red? No. Not red. I think the brown. Brown for lust Red is for money and blue for deads.

Take deads

Away.

Play music

Please.

22

Miss Frost was lying upon her back, her head supported by two nice white pillows. There was a grayness under her eyes. Near to tears. Her hand divided over the back of her book, holding it face down on the covers. Mr. Dangerfield, arbiter of wisdom, stood erect at the bottom of her bed, concerned and loving. Looking at her eyes as they flashed sorrow and asked him to come to her for now. And they were in their little room together shut off from the rest of the house and world out there ready to axe them. How to get out of it And Dangerfield. And Miss Frost.

"I am going to call you Lilly"

A shy smile tightened upon her lips, her eyes turning away and back and tight lips and the edge of her teeth coming to nip her mouth and her face up to face his.

"O."

"I think it's time I called you Lilly. Lilly"

"O well."

"Lilly"

"Dear me"

"Are there eats, Lilly?"

"Just some bacon and tea but take that ten shilling note, Mr. Dangerfield, and get some eggs."

"No. I couldn't."

"Do. Please. I insist"

Dangerfield to the dresser. Slipping the note in a pocket

"Won't be a minute."

Yet I stoop to menial things. But there just hasn't been enough money. However, in the flux. Keep one's eyes wide and never know when or what might come up. Live off the environment Take fruit from my trees. Fine shirts from counters and charge them. Ton of turf from my fuel merchant and bill me later. Take one large turkey, rat trap and rare cheese, pound of Robert's best coffee and bit of salami, oh and a quick quart of sauerkraut and would you mind frightfully putting it on my account Air filled with certainly sir. O it was good. Creamery butter? How many pounds sir? I think the three. Rashers? A nice bit of back please. A ton if you will. Picture me walking up Grafton Street. I am passing Mitchell's Cafe and the doorway where I have always looked carefully to see aristocratic faces poised out of necks of flowery, sweet-smelling dresses and looked at their noses and rather lovely nostrils, racehorses for sure and eyes sparking with vitamins always hoping one would smile at me. And one speaks. O Sebastian wherever have you been? What? Not really. You mean you're hungry. Ghastly. O you're joking. Shocking. But do come and have tea with me. Of course I'm paying. Whatever are you wearing? That thing. Yes, that thing. My God, it's a blanket. Rakish. Only thing I can think of. Frightfully LA.F. I mean it's sort of R.A.F. sort of thing. I.A.F. ? Irish Air Force, of course, stupid. Do come and have tea. O no, wear it I like it Suits you. Frightfully exciting. You do some rather weird things, everyone says so. And there I am with this girl, by the window upstairs. She's paying. Me under my brown blanket Brown for lust. Eating my cake she bought for me. Eat one. Steal two. Eat one. Steal another. After tea. I go to the lavatory and flush my blanket in the toilet I take a cardboard sign and fashion it in a stiff collar. Use my black shoelace. Black for private means. I return wearing this and nothing else. You might say making an obvious gesture of indecency. But fed.

And tonight I go in and buy eggs. And Miss Frost, my lily and Lilly, wherever will you go? I've not wanted to cause you pain but to understand, be with you and give you love. And we got our bodies mixed up on the bed and one night I wore your pajamas.