Just another Friday night
Or so it seemed
We met at the Variety as usual
We were all suitably preened
Each of us with absent partners
But then again what did that matter
We can all look but we can’t touch
We’re always blurring real and imagined worlds

Too many drinks far too fast
But that’s the machismo we honour
I have to be home by eleven
Because I’ve commitments tomorrow

And like clockwork we stumble
Into the familiar Sleazy’s
Where we watch impudent pups with ageless guitars
Laughing and throwing their youth right in our faces

It’s doubles now
And they’re followed by doubles for chasers
Hours fly by, as they always do
It’s amid zombie-phone distractions
And nostalgic conversations

I remember someone being sick
Was that me? I’m not sure?
The again, what’s a Friday night
Without sick on your shoes?

I call it a night
And I make my excuses
Hey guys, I’ve got a train to catch
Remember guys, I promised …
What happened?
I don’t understand?
How did I get here?

My face pressed against the concrete
My view is a sea of shoes
In close-up, there’s a cigarette butt, alight and poisoning
It’s bright glow stamped out amid a rabble of voices

It’s Sauchiehall Street,
Saturday the 15th June,
4.16am
I was pronounced dead