‘When Your Heart Runs Out Of Time’ – Glenn Gregory & Claudia Brücken
NORTH BRINK/MAGAZINE LANE PHONE BOX.
Thank you, Flash. I shall write to her.
I simply adore the ground upon which she walks and nothing can take that from me. Perhaps that’s all I have left, and then, with age and senility, the memory of her will fade.
You are a GHOST. Time is taking you away fro me, bit by bit. It seems the world is determined to pull you from my heart + my mind. The old house has gone, along with the Cinema, and today, of all days, even the wall upon which we sat the moment we met seems to have gone.
I need to see you, MIRANDA. Life’s too short for me to die and never tell you the things I still want to tell you.
I’m perhaps correct in believing that you and your mother passed me in the car today. Then you’ll probably be expecting me to come and sit by your wall; after all, you saw me thru a gap in your curtains on MONDAY nite, didn’t you? And your dad has seen me loads of times, I’m sure.
‘All Of My Heart’ – ABC
ON THE BRINK
(in more ways than one…)
I’ve just been speaking with Ebenezer (?), MIRANDA’s cat. At least I hope it was. Yes, it’s about definite. It didn’t say much back to me. We stared, continuously, into each other’s eyes for approximately two minutes. I tried to transmit a message for it to pass on to Miranda, but I don’t think it was up for it. That was that and the cat flitted off into the night.
I feel useless. I just wish there was some way we could communicate, MIRANDA. I have so many final things to tell you, then that, as they say, will be that.
I’LL TRY TELEPATHY AGAIN…
‘I lost a bangle…’
‘Oh, your hair’s been…’
WheRe ARe You?
She’s not in.
Why is that I can feel that she’s not there? Strange.
She’s not in. Quite uncanny, but I can feel it. Is it not so? It MUST BE.
I shall go home and listen to PROPAGANDA.
Ships with sails, upon a calm sea; not quite Spanish galleons, not quite Chinese junks…
Sad, long faced men, with droopy quiffs…
Sparkling crystal cities, lost in the blue and smoky mist…
Long fingered hands, splayed and grasping…
‘Some Like It Hot’ – Adolph Deutsch & His Orchestra
This is my emergency notelette in case I see you before I post the genuine article.
I can hardly see as I write this (I’m under a streetlamp, as you’ve probably realised).
MIRANDA, THIS IS URGENT. I implore you: PLEASE, PLEASE (I hate to intrude or harass) COULD YOU DO ME ONE FAVOUR and I promise I will leave you in peace forevermore…
I really need to speak to you, one final time, before either you or I leave the area (this autumn, perhaps?). I beg of you: ONE single hour of your time, spent over tea in BACCHALLY’S perhaps, one Saturday afternoon. ONE SINGLE HOUR for my sake; it would do me the world of good. I have quite a few things to tell you, and a lot of information that will set the record straight (more for my benefit than yours, I s’pose, but please humour me).
Discuss this with Mark by all means, for I implore him, too. DO NOT WORRY; I DO NOT WISH TO EVEN SLIGHTLY HINDER YOUR RELATIONSHIP IN ANY WAY. THIS MEETING WOULD NOT BE THAT PATHETIC. I just wish to speak with you, sensibly + rationally, one final time.
I BEG YOU.
If the answer is no, then so be it.
RITCHERD J WINTERFOOD
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Next time: ‘Don't walk away…’