Tuesday 25 October 2011

Words of ruthless encouragement

"Are you running from something?"

"I'm always running from something. Sometimes I slow down. I ever stop; then you gotta be worried."

She wondered why she was talking to him. It certainly wasn't doing anything to pick up her mood. He slouched in the chair opposite, grinding the bottom of his coffee cup with a teaspoon. That certainly wasn't doing anything to relieve her nausea.

"You ever listened to my records?"

"Yes of course."

"They sound like running?"

They sounded like whining.

"Some of them do. Some of them sound like fighting."

He seemed to like this. He put the spoon down and looked at her.

"Who do you think I'm fighting?"

"Right now? Me"

He laughed.

"Why am I asking all the questions?"

"Because you have something to hide?"

"So you are a journalist. Haven't we all got something to hide? Why would you care what mine is?"

"To be honest I don't," her patience was wearing thin, "but for some reason a lot of people do."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because you've spent thirty years telling them you've got something to hide."

He picked up the spoon and then put it down again. He picked up the cup to find it empty. He checked his phone. He looked out of the window. She was no longer amusing him. He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket.

"Tell them that again."

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