Another greasy-looking oxygen thief slapped a coin on the table and adjusted his belt. He winked at someone who could have been his mother. If he’d ever had one.
I smiled my friendly smile, the one that said I wouldn’t kill him, not today, and reached for another beer.
There was a new face propping up the bar next to my ever-growing collection of empty mugs. An older face, lined with memories, and crowned with a shock of white hair. Intense grey eyes seemed to absorb me, the pool table, my opponent, the entire bar, before nodding absently, as if it all met with his approval.
“Afternoon,” he smiled.
I gazed at him over the rim of the glass, wondering where I’d seen him before. Probably in the same place, different day. Johannesburg could be a really small world sometimes.
“You figured that out all by yourself, did you?”
He smiled again as I turned back to the table. Loverboy had broken, and I sank a couple of balls just for the hell of it. When I reached for another sip, Smiley was still there.
“You looking to make some spare cash?”
“Put a coin down,” I told him. “We’ll see what happens.”
Another smile. “I’m not talking about playing pool.”
Extract from Burning Roses, a decadent tale of sex, drugs, rock n roll & magick, set in the clubs and bars of 1980s Johannesburg. Available on Amazon.
Or in paperback from Curiosity in Pretoria, and The Real Mackay in Blairgowrie.
Or you can get a signed copy from me over the weekend. On Saturday the 7th I’ll be at the Good Life Festival in Pretoria, with my mates from Curiosity.
And if I survive that, Sunday the 8th will see me selling books at the Jo’burg Record Fair.
Check out Graham Downs’ monthly newsletter, which features – amongst other goodies – an article on yours truly.
Till next time.
Cheers.
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