cuts and memories

This is when the big other, the always unknown, the discontinuous reality which leaps like an iguana at your face, because the iguana is fascinated by his eyes moving in the face. But now years later its the middle of the road in another country, he is standing on the white line in the middle of a deserted dual carriageway at midnight waiting for oblivion. He walks down the centre of the road carefully stepping on the white lines. Before returning to the car having survived another hour. Later he sips vodka from a cut glass shot glass and reads pages of a novel about the secret life of a secretary…