La Poulette

Tastes like chicken.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Lock 'im up and throw away the key, I say!


I don't claim to be the most interesting nor the most exciting person in this world. And although there are one or two of you out there who enjoy reading this blog you'd most probably be disappointed were we to meet for a little tete-a-tete. There is something wrong with my timing when I speak, my words often come out in a somewhat confused garble and whenever I hear a recording of my voice,we-ell, it ain't no music to my ears, I'll tell you that. Nonetheless I'd like to think that every now and then, I do have something interesting to say and am capable of holding some rather enjoyable discussions with people. Alas, there is at least one person out there who would beg to differ.
It was a few years back when I would be a regular face on the Ljubljana night-life scene. As is the case in a city of 300.000 inhabitants, one thus gets to know various regulars of the scene, which often include a number of shady characters. Ž. was one such person, all sex n' drugs n' rock n' roll (I was always a tad doubtful about that first point though). He also happened to be highly intelligent, well read, with an enjoyable sense of humour. So when I met him after a long while in a shady club in the wee hours of the morning you may well imagine my joy, for I knew another interesting conversation would be on the horizon. We had ourselves an pleasant chit-chat, during which I embarked upon a long, and to my humble opinion, rather interesting discussion about matters that elude me now. I leaned in and spoke in his ear to make sure he would hear me against the backdrop of pounding music. I waved my arms about to punctuate my words. I ignored my drink and flipped my hair, my face lit up in awe of the brilliance of my own words. When I was done, I finally looked at him expecting to see his close-set eyes flashing in approval, his mouth braced with a comeback that would only serve to confirm the greatness of my words. Instead, I was greeted with the sight of him fast asleep. I will not bother describing my reaction or the subsequent demise of our friendship. But 9 years on I still ask myself: what the hell was he thinking? That sleep is a rare commodity, so this was as good a time as any to catch some z's? That he'd steal himself a precious few minutes for a power nap and wake up just in time to hear the end of my boring tale? That the monotonous drone of my voice was indeed a very agreeable substitute for his sleeping pills?
Whatever the case may be, I found out a few months later that he'd been arrested on some drug charges (I kid you not). Sometimes, just sometimes, there actually is justice in this world.

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