Imaginary Mao

i got mao's text around eight - i was sitting in some dingy bar watching boxers spar on the tv i'll be late don't wait for me so i ordered some more wasabi peas & massaged my stiff knees dreamily it's always like this i think because mao's the one who's always late (mentioning something about make-up or a facelift in a mausoleum somewhere they're probably touching him up as we speak (friday night in beijing was not quite what i expected it to be despite what the old fortune teller told me about patience being the key to my future life still i can't help wondering what's keeping him - maybe the rain, or a lost taxi? more beer recharge my battery witnessing scuffles by the door more & more peasants turned artists swarm for stools & drink until finally (finally!) there's a buzz by the window & his big moon face floating past i shout mao! mate! & his head swivels & i feel like the devil drinking faust i make way for the body of my hero, cold but shining in the wan electric ceiling light what would you be drinking then i say (without waiting for his reply - it's always vodka for us six shots each then a glass of hot milk still i'm a little bit annoyed by his drunken silence after all who's not stopping him from texting away on that big tv phone of his? - a freebie from some mysterious company seeking advertising rights over mao or the madame i ask how she's going (no reply (the guy's manners are beginning to piss me off not to mention the barman who thought of mao as an old friend up until this point it seems mao's been keeping better company something about drunken lenin & santa claus mao mimics him going ho chi min ho ho this draws a laugh from one or two desperate pop artists but i'm mum & so won't even look at him now preferring instead to pretend my beer bottle's just a telescope & its contents the sea abruptly the barman calls last drinks but mao doesn't even move dead drunk i suppose that great big mug of his looking kind of fake now in the bright light of dawn somehow i stumble out into an alley with no past my arms around mao's slippery neck we do a little dance together as we try to resurrect the name of the club we'd planned to visit to no avail thus i'm left with no choice but to pile the man into a taxi & pay off the driver with a wink & ten yuan see this one gets home safely would you? thanks he's a special mate of mine - name's mao imaginary mao (bye i say bye (no reply


Anonymous said…
Thanks for describing this wonderful encounter...
David Prater said…
Dear Kat,

glad you liked it! ;-)

Popular posts from this blog

Subterrannean Yellowcake Alien