napowrimo day 4

I used the official napowrimo prompt which was liminal zones and used this photo as a visual prompt

https://twitter.com/SpaceLiminalBot/status/1378068006425788419?s=19

In the late Littoral

Sometimes it's hard to remember : we are part of someone else's story, but not the biggest part.

These old red chairs in the forecourt by the ocean,

The scent of salt air, piss, heated oil and bacon.

Smoke in my breath from the fag end in your fingers,

Brut in the air, slicked back hair and just like your suit

You had seen better days.

Phone pressed up against your ear with hunched up shoulder.

Fingers greedy in your tatty pack of Amber Leaf,

Rolling while you're talking, combing through the dog ends

"I called her up," you said, defeated. "I told her..."

"I told her that. I did."

And the wind whipped up and sent your words to oceans,

A tiddler broiled out at sea. White tipped crests of waves

Raced out and fell to foam on sodden dirty sand,

And the water ran in rivulets in the stream,

Along the broken groin.

"I told her," you said again, but firmer and the

Anguish in your voice ran deep. "I said to her, look,

I speak Italian." And the wind blew up again

And whipped your Rizzlas away, sprawled tobacco

On the wet red tables.

And in that moment you were my uncle, broken

As I saw him last, poised beside the rust bound cars

On Cowley Road. And you were franctic and fighting

Hard for one last hit. One last expensive blow out

In Regis-on-the-Sea

Phone still tucked beneath your chin, still lost in hopeless

Conversation, you moved between salt limned tables.

"Excuse me mate, have you got... can I get a paper."

I passed my tin and you picked through, took more than you

Needed for one fat smoke.

"Keep the packet, mate." You smiled and looked embarrassed.

"I shouldn't, mate. I really shouldn't." The packet slid

Inside your pocket and you coughed. "I shouldn't mate, but

Whats the point in stopping when I've already got it,

Big C. Know what I mean.”

And his phone squawked. "Terry, yeah right. Terry, I'm still

I'm still here. Look. You've got to let her know. I do...

I speak... And the wind blew up across the water

And the sand settled in the cracks on the floor. “I

Do. I speak Italian”

We are all parts of other’s stories

But we never know which part.