Follow the trail of breadcrumbs, that's the thing. piece it all together bit by bit.


I was around in Bredon's, oh, a week ago, a month ago? Brendon was sitting in his office, surrounded by empty cartons from Starbucks, or Coffeworld or what ever similarly bland coffeterias he frequents. Hundreds of cartons, stacked neatly, one in the other, crushed, full of cigarette butts. I wondered would he not have saved himself so much money if he'd just invested in a decent Gaggia. Four hundred quid the one at home cost me. Ten coffees a week is gonna cost forty quid. 10 weeks later, it pays for itself. but then again, it's the interaction isn't. the subtle brothel of the broth. He doesn't care that he's drinking bland piss water squeezed out of a diabetic Colombian, he wants to be there, among the tendrils of steam, the hiss, the Spanish and Polish girls who don't speak English and fuck up your order. Bostons greatest hits in the background. The sense of empowerment a man with a hot carton of coffee, carefully inserted into the heat-dispersing cardboard condom. A man who must drink his coffee ON THE GO is a man to be reckoned with. A man who has time to scratch his balls and do the crossword while his gaggia coughs in the background. well that man. that man has no job.

Brendon is busy editing some scenes for a documentary on Steven Glass, who was in the Frames for a few years but left to teach fine art to African kids in Gambia. It's about how he got aids or something. it looks dull as fuck.
"it's like this," i say. "the dvd you gave me. i lost it."
"ah. fuck it. i suppose whoever finds it will have a laugh."
"oh they'll laugh alright"
"did you see it? before you lost it."
"well actually, i did. and it's not lost, but neither is it the dvd i wanted"
"ok. jesus, sorry. what was it."
"you fucking some bird"
"ha ha. JESUS. god. fucked up. Was it Cathy?"
"was it what?"
"no, Jesus, it wouldn't be..."
"what was it... who?"
"Georgina was it?"
"i didn't watch it."
"she nicked my wallet the little bitch. did you see that?"
"i didn't... what about Cathy?"
"fuck me, man oh man. Sorry about that. No brother needs to see that, eh?"
Brendon is laughing, well, chuckling to himself as he fishes out another cigarette, as the one he just chucked into the dregs of his coffee is still hissing. HE stops, momentarily, before starting to laugh again. His chair arches back, he find the edge of his desk with his feet, adidas roma, non vintage, and scatters a minaret of discarded coffee coupons. i could do with a drink. i'm thirsty, and the room is thick with the brume of ancient smoke.
"sorry."
"yeah. i, eh. I don't.... what's this about Cathy?"
"i can do you up another."
"Of Cathy?"
"Ha ha ha, sorry. Jesus. Fuck. NO, the girls. Sorry, you're horrified."
"hey man, i ain't no square."
"it's really.. there's some funny bits."
"good. i've paid for it, right?"
"sure you did. sorry mate. fuck i'll buy you a drink. i'll give you Georgina's phone number."
"no thanks, she didn't look all that."
"ha ha ha"

We sit there, diaphanous wisps of smoke hang in the air as if placed there, unmoving, light dissolving. Brendon turns back to the pc. I need a drink. i can feel it in me, the taste of booze remembered on my tongue, it's fingers down my throat. Brendon turns back to his mac, clicks on something. makes a note. This meeting is finished.
"i better head"
"hey, look, hope that didn't freak you out. Fuck me, how dumb is that, eh? i'm such a fucking idiot. Really, really sorry." Brendon smacks his own head.
"it's cool, just don't send t to your mother."

I walk to the door, turn, brendon is hunched down, watching his screen. "eh..."
"yo?"
"nothing."


Outside i try Cathy's number and it rings out. I try again. and again. i head to the nearest pub, which happens to be Fallons, and order a big whiskey, and a velvety sexy pint of guinness and i try her number again. the sun has come out, vaguely, and hangs in the room like some gossamer blanket. i order another round. five more attempts on Cathy's phone. i leave one message that is me gulping. i take the phone and call one more number.

"Brendon? it's me. look. how much do you want for the one of Cathy? hello?"


Twenty five minutes later he calls back, and names his price.