Brian Snuff – Forgot how to Narrate and now it’s just Mono-logue
Tiny droplets of rain sit on the bare tree outside the window. Wet night time chilliness drifts into the flat. Inconsequential moments shift awkwardly up against one another. An anxiety cuddle forgotten by tomorrow.
LEON: That Matilda. She’s pretty organised, huh?
I imagine her in animation form, with a church organ replacing her innards. Matilda has a thin nose, a thin face. Curse of the newbie.
SNUFTY: She’s training to be a producer, she should be.
LEON: Kind of bossy though. Taking over. Doesn’t it bother you?
Yes. Deeply. I feel ineffectual not just socially and romantically (the norm), but professionally…
If you can call Frank City Film Club a profession. It’s more of a hobby horse fallen off its tethers.
SNUFTY: Why would it bother me?
LEON: I’m not gonna psychoanalyse you, mate. You do that for yourself.
Do I? How does he know. I’ve long suspected he knows everything. Like when you look a small child or cat in the eyes. They know everything.
Leon is rolling another joint and spilling bits of tobacco into the newspaper on his lap. This is why the window is open and it is cold.
Kes watches us converse from his beanbag.
LEON: …Ratty emails. Don’t you think? She wants her slab of meat for the week.
He says these things gently, like they don’t really phase him at all. I hate how fucking cool he is. I hate how I think he’s really oblivious, and then he turns all shrewd, as though he’s been listening all along. Even when he seems distracted. I don’t really hate any of this, it’s why I like him. I just hate forgetting.
SHUFTY: It’s nice to receive emails rather than send them off into the abyss, never to return.
(Shouting into the silence)
LEON: I love your emails, man. They’re charming.
SHUFTY: Charmingly inept.
Leon smiles as his applies saliva to the strip on the rolling paper.
KES: And if I don’t answer her email, she phones me.
Kes looks thoroughly puzzled by this.
LEON: Whoah, doesn’t she know you hate people ringing you?
SHUFTY: That’s why we get on, Kes. You know I hate ringing people. Ying and yang.
Paranoia wrapped in the phonelines. The phoney lines. Customer service training – remember to have a smile in your voice.
Kes started a doodle three hours ago which sits discarded in the notebook. I decide to elaborate on it. I look for a pen.
Leon leans out of the window to smoke. He blocks my view of raindrops with a partial profile. Tight curly hair and an appealing crooked nose. The street light that lit the raindrops catches in his eyes. I wonder if Nikita could ever look at me the way she looks at Leon and then deny the answer like a hastily side-stepped crack in the pavement.
I turn neat squiggles into fish heads and fancy pipes. I digress.