Dust to Dust



I threw my big telly out the window during the night.

Which sounds mental, but I did check that there was nobody on the road below. The weird thing was, it fell much slower and took much longer than I thought. You’d guess it would only be a second or two to go from the eighteenth-floor to the ground – but it isn’t. I was panicking, thinking somebody was going to come out the door and get splattered all over the pavement. Those seconds, sweating, as it got smaller, further away from me, the flat where it had stood for what, ten, fifteen years? But what a feeling when it eventually smashed into the slabs, and the glass went fucking everywhere! What a feeling. I was surprised I was even able to do it. Not as strong as I used to be, and it was a massive big telly that, must have weighed about five stone!

Yesterday the collectors had shouted in my letterbox that unless I made payment, they were coming through the door next time. To lift the telly and anything else of value. I waited till late then unplugged it, dragged it over to the window, heaved one end up onto the sill, and gradually shoved it far enough that it just overbalanced and was gone.

After it broke, I shut the curtains and went to bed. They never came the next day. I stayed in my room with the door locked, reading a book I’d read years and years ago. When I looked down, the weans were all playing with my telly. In the evening it got set on fire. I leaned out and watched. Quite a crowd round it, all the boys and lassies from round the way. The next morning, it was a pile of black ashes.

Dust to dust, eh. ●