‘I can stop the whirlwind,’ she said, ‘before it destroys us all.’
‘Haw!’ I replied. ‘Woah up there, mama princess. You’re speaking to a past-master of fast-blasting disasters. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Why do you speak like such a fool?’ she asked. ‘Nothing’s easy with you. Why do you have to make life so hard all the time?’
And she turned away, and I still thought I was in love with her – and maybe, you know, maybe I still am – so I said:
‘Well, some say that’s just the way it is, but me, I’m a little peculiar. I dig self-vexation. Big time. Life doesn’t have to be easy, little one.’
She yawned and said:
‘I think I might talk to that one over there.’
And she tilted her drink in the direction of a production line coolsy chat who was sitting further down the bar and preening his moustache.
‘Don’t do that,’ I told her. ‘At the very least, stay here with me forever. I’ll buy you another drink – this time made out of peacock’s eggs. I’ll be ever so good, and I’ll even shut up from time to time.’
Her face turned scornful.
‘Snapcat! You offer nothing he doesn’t except gobbledegook about melancholy angels. Always with the angels. What is it about you and angels?’
And I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.
‘I was one once,’ I told her. ‘But that was long ago.’