not right. not fair

I was working on my exhibition yesterday; going over memories of school with Jim. We now have a video, which dad found, of myself in 1992. I saw old rich S, and, remembering he lived in Weston, decided I needed a roll. I caught the buss to Crewe, and wended my way the two and a half distance to the small village. Then, given it’s size, I decided to ask about for my oldest friends. His imput would be great.

I first asked in a pub – no sign. Then, after a short scout, I saw two men talking outside the village hall. I asked them if they knew a guy about my age in a chair. They did.

‘son of a farmer? Younger brother, older sister?’

‘yes.’ I said ‘do you know where I might find him?’

‘I’m sorry to tell you this, but he died last October’.

I had always imagined rich getting old, married, this wise old Englishman. We went through most of school together, from 5 to 16. my gran always reminds me of him: ‘Do you remember Richard? He was always smiling.’ He was engaged to be married. I remember school unihock sessions with him best.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I’m posting it to make explaining easier. I’m hoping those chaps were mistaken. It’s possible but unlikely.

Oh fuck it. Fuck it all.

One thought on “not right. not fair

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