Not Kylie Minogue

16 Aug

Strolling on a Sunday, taking the air, I surveyed the usual debris from Saturday night: cigarette packets, crushed Jim Bean and coke cans, unused but open condoms (yes, it must be fun opening a packet of condoms when you are pissed and walking home, they do it all the time – perhaps its the same fellow), carefully balanced half filled bottles of beer (I do not check what they are half filled with).  And there it was: a bottle of absinthe.

What the Kevin?  What Trevor left that lying there?  I don’t live in bleeding Montmarte.  Its not frigging Moulin Rouge.  My neighbour is not Toulouse Lautrec, or Ewan McGregor.

I can only assume some moron thought they were stealing a bottle of midori, or the world’s fanciest mouthwash.  The bottle was so green.  I didn’t even know you could get absinthe in Dingleville.  I walked on amusing myself with images of tiny Kylie Minogues flying about the place before my conscience got to me.  Absinthe should not be left lying around for small children.  I could not bear the responsibility if they developed bad habits and started hanging around can can dancers and talking about “their Art”.  I walked back to empty the bottle.  The seal was broken but little if any had been consumed.  How did they react to the first taste of wormwood?  “Thats not a melon liqueur, Donna.” “Who you calling Donna, you poof.”  Punch.  Its certainly not advocaat and cherry brandy.

So in my public spirited way I emptied it for the ants and bugs.  The bottle remained unclaimed for several days.

 

One time, I found a dead fox on the same street corner.  Not only is it not Montmarte, neither is it Sherwood Forest.  Beatrix Potter is no neighbour of mine.  I should find the photo and upload it.

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4 Responses to “Not Kylie Minogue”

  1. greatlakessocialist December 2, 2011 at 9:15 am #

    Maybe the absinthe traveled up the food chain and killed the fox?

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