The Air-conditioned Speed of Sound by Andrew Taylor

Take cover for I am on the

prowl again. Dredging through

past gardens of placidity, seeking

out any chink of light which could

pierce the armour which encircles

what was once my heart.



I pace the floor and ignore what

convention holds. 'Night time is for

freaks and ghouls' - welcome to

the ghoulish freak show. Rule out

driving out to the coast, the weather

is unkind and besides, my flask is broke.



Arm my bedside table with Norfolk

Punch, Melatonin and Chivas Regal

and sit on the bed awaiting the

challenges that are to come. Open

the notebook, tattered and torn, to

a free page and begin to write.



Silence wraps its cool arms around me.

I ponder wiring my headphones to

the stereo and listening to Chet Baker.

Nothing could kill this silence.

Better this than the heat and sweat of

a nightmare.