At least it stopped raining and we could start fires in the outside fields, walk the two dogs and hear cracks in the black woods, they stop and growl at the ghosts, but gone with the smoke into a clear night sky the heavy moon mid song about all the love in the world, wind away and down the glen down. It’s the Black of the night that hides all these men’s secrets and all the girls desires. They roll under their slumber sleeps not a whimper not a single peep. Breath dogs breath.
After some night before rockin dirty whiskies with Seabrooke down in Navan, I had to stop for a local club sandwich in Sofias which is the Bulgarian run diner around the corner and joining me was Hecktor who I’ve known for ages but never really talked to at length, you’d always see him around john gunns camera shop in his classic black suit and tee shirt this day sporting ray bans and slick back silver hair in the brief sunshine, it turned out he’s a lecturer of photography in a local college and we rapped about the loss of learning in photography classes specifically in the dark room areas and the love and need for film work, “it’s all gone digital” with the exception of his custom zippo.
