There’d been no other reason to get wasted other than we were brothers and it was Saturday. By midnight we were gargling cheap wine and the walls had rushed away. Seven sheets blew in the wind we sailed steamrollers in the neighbour’s garden – laughing at the trains that peered through the cracks in the fence.
Later we sprawled on the floor – giggling at the things stuck to the ceiling with tape. When the first plate fell and shattered we swept the remains under the armchair. By the time the mist crept up from the river we were asleep.
When the Sunday morning sun drilled in through the slit window it smiled. I pulled the curtains closed and slept some more.
Search the fragments