Green Shoe

(All the writing in this set was inspired by dreams. For more info
read 'An Explanation - 25 Dreams'.)

There are children so small that they climb into drains; they walk into
gutters and drains and they poke their heads out so that they look like
prisoners behind bars.

Some of them get stuck.

I am sitting by the pool. It's a hot day and I am wearing shorts and
one green shoe. I look at it, ragged and worn, white stuffing coming
out of it, black felt peeling off the top.

A young man with wild, ginger locks approaches my sun bed. He is
wearing a fluffy, white bathrobe and a large grin. Between the fingers
of his right hand he is carrying two spliffs and he passes one to me as
he comments on my one green shoe. He tells me it is red.

I disagree. He is adamant, however, and I let it go. He has probably
been smoking too much, speaking of which:

"I don't smoke."

"That doesn't matter," he says. Then he takes my joint and touches the
tip of it against my hand - the triangle of skin that joins my thumb
and first finger and is good for placing the salt when drinking
tequila. The roll-up burns me a little, but it lights. Smoke billows
from it and invades my nostrils. It's not a sweet smell. I feel as
though I am getting the pain but no pleasure and I think about smoking
a little, because this is only a dream, but I don't; I just keep the
thing lit by pressing it against my skin every few minutes.

The guy in the bathrobe lies down on a sun bed next to mine, reflective
shades, a fat joint and a big grin against the blazing sun.

I'm thinking.

I need new trainers for walking along the canal in;
green or red.

And
Condoms should come in bags of Doritos,

like the flavour sachets
in Pot Noodles,

they're the ideal snack
to eat after sex.