Europe, Endless

One day while I was in Spain last week, the light cast a certain glow across one of those little sides streets, the kind you only find in smalltown Europe, and suddenly I was transported back in time to when I lived in a university town in Belgium with my Great Nemesis. It was one of our drunken afternoons, when everything felt like it moved in delicious slo-mo Super 8. He said something, cracked a joke, playfully stretched a metaphor... We strolled onto the Grote Markt and bought tuna steaks. I pointed out a pineapple and he immediately scooped it up. The afternoon was perfect--neat and sweet, like the little mass produced coffee biscuits that come with every glass cup of koffie you buy.

Then there was an argument. I don't know about what or why, but I remember his back to me as he worked the lock on the front door and I contemplated, with calm, cold seriousness how i was going to smash his head in with one of the cobblestones from the pile that they were repaving the street with. I could feel the weight of the stone in my hand and the great release achieved by clunking it against the back of his head.

I was shaking with a need INVERSELY equal to the loveliness of the hours previous.

If I'd killed him in that moment the cause would have been BANALITY--nothing more, nothing less.

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