You bearded gin soaked hag, you.

Mitre Square.jpg

Cat was exactly as I remembered her. Standing before me in a shapeless heavy woollen dress that fell to the ankle,  it was the mirror of my own, the exception being that it was a deep emerald green. It’s colour put one in mind of the Absinthe we pair so heartily consumed throughout the hundreds of years of our association. Her boots, once more are a mirror of my own; leather, black, calf length, laced, practical and hardwearing.

 

To see her framed beneath the lintel of the entrance to her home was poetry and beauty combined as one in motion. Cat squealed, gasped, stepping forward and embracing me in a breathtaking iron grip, leaving me partially cyanotic and elated beyond words.

 

It had been roughly one hundred and twenty years since we had last seen each other; I was present at her remarkable death. Cat and I, both drunker than was reasoned to be sensible, with noses full of more cocaine than the doctor had ordered, had the spectacularly ridiculous idea of sneaking into M. Henri-Louis Pernod’s absinthe distillery, located within Pontarlier, in this very France. Attempting to drink directly from the vats had been a wonderful lark up until Cat, giggling uncontrollably, fell head first into one. After popping up to the surface, Cat had fought off all rescuers, and had the most wonderful time swimming around with her mouth open like some massive booted fish. After a good ten minutes of this, she finally clambered out with a laugh, bent down, and picked up her packet of revolting thin black cigars. Striking a match against the side of the oak vat,  both she and the very same vat exploded as one. What was later found of her was a charred and very dead relic of her former glory, yet with an enormous and circumstantially ridiculous grin; smile etched creases stood proud beside her now gone eyes.

 

Her teeth were perfect, her hair was absent, the distillery burnt to the ground, and my beautiful friend was forever lost to me. Well so I had thought. Now, after our reunion, I had found where I truly wanted to be. The year 1897, the place Paris, my life anew had finally begun. Death would be pleased.

 

TBC.

You know the score by now, click the pic. Get down and all that funky stuff.

 

 

N.

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