Clarence was still on the wine. He was becoming more and more drunk and by the time he had finished his meal his charm had turned sour.
‘’I must tell you about my mother one day.’’ He said slurring his words.
We left the restaurant around 11:30 pm. Clarence lingered and stumbled as he walked. I lingered but I did not stumble.
Moths hovered under streetlamps. The false flame. The light that bears no salvation. Clarence leaned against a streetlamp and looked up at the moths, which like cattle were unaware of their fate.
‘’Are you a gambling man?’’ Clarence asked me.
‘’ Depends on the wager.’’ I said.
‘’Well, I wager you £500 I can climb this lamp-post and catch one of these moths?’’
‘’I don’t have £500 to wager.’’
‘’The twilight sun is what moths dream of, its lively eyes always on the lookout for the hottest star. I shall be that shining star.’’ Clarence told me.
Regardless of my answer he stepped up to the challenge.
He was eyeing up the moths with a childish pout. He felt sure that he would catch his prey. He was the hunter. He looked serious. Serious like the loathing of a black hole. He leapt onto the lamppost like a leopard... dragging his arms and legs up the long pipe in discomfort. The harder he tried the...