Monday, January 12, 2009


He walks through the close, glowing atmosphere of the night club like a thing possessed. Months of unspent passion standing out on his forehead, shining like beads of blood in the warm light. That which was secluded in the confines of some space suddenly released. Someone is dancing next to his girlfriend, wrestling her like an assailant while she grins exquisitely. Is there a face more beautiful than this in this moment? Hunting one another in the darkness.
We court each other like hunter and prey in these kindling moments until, one day, perhaps, things take a turn. We stake out territorial boundaries, into which the other creature must not stray. The beauty of that moment stays, lives on in the mind of the one, yet is obscured for the other.
He walks out of the club as a man out of a fire. Into the frying pan. The cold air smoking around his goose-pimpling flesh, the too-large pupils dancing their ecstatic dance. Drinking in the moon and the raw sensation of that moment as it slips by. He's not going anywhere when he hears the scrabbling of claws and boots on cobbles, and the brash yell of the policeman. Under the visor the eyes are weary and strain to do their duty, almost against their will in the face of such steaming, righteous revelry.
His feet carry him away. Beating against the cobbles, faster than he'd ever imagined going. The dilated vessels carrying too much oxygen to every searing fiber in his lower body. And they vibrate in unison, chorusing their primal anaerobic symphony of wild enthusiasm.
Cornered in a suburban estate later, he almost laughs as the dog is thrown onto the lawn beneath the sweeping search lights, the radio communication buzzing theatrically about his last known whereabouts. There is a moment of recognition between them, a slight pause before he barks the signal to the officer. The quizzical, intelligent eyes of the German Shepherd seem to joke "we're both in this together". In the fires of his still pulsating brain, the look lingers like one of love. He's lifted up by the policeman, shouting the institutionalized hunter's call of victory. He accepts the the lawn's cold, wet embrace, as his hands are tightly secured behind his back, with absolute serenity.




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