I explained to the stranger how he could kill my ex-wife’s lover and not get the blame or get caught because there was no connection between the two of us except this random conversation between the two of us in the ill-lit toilet of a Soho club and that I’d forget we had talked when I came down from the coke and the speed and I thought I had given him all the information he needed but no reward, no, no reward, what reward could he need except for the joy of killing a bad person he had never met and getting away with it scot free, scot free, and that was quite funny because now I lived in Scotland but now was down in London and I laughed and I laughed and the man’s eyes widened still further and he said ‘no entiendo’ and ran out of the men’s room.
At the Marina bar an hour after sunrise, early sunseekers with their cappuccini and cornetti swirl and eddy around the nightclub exiters, cold water, give me cold water. The tribes mix like suntan cream and seawater.
An hour later the tattooed late-night swimmers trail up from the rocks, eyes red with salt and sleeplessness, beer bottles half full of cigarette butts and ash. The greatgrandparents distract the children with promises of coloured fish.