Where has the year gone? Was it really twelve months ago that I caught site of the president of our little college? Five months since the Christmas party? It’s a fleeting thing the school year, and so busy that much has gone unreported. Take, for example, last Friday night. I had arranged to meet Colm for a mid evening drink amidst the end of the semester chaos of projects and papers and grading. He showed up, half an hour late, to the run down joint we discovered this semester, The Condor. Unmarked and unwashed, the Condor has long been a clubhouse for downmarket, elderly gay men, in short, the kind of joint that hasn’t yet been ruined by the presence of art damaged hipsters.
Turdling: Where the fuck have you bee. . . what’s wrong with your eye?
Colm: Nothing, nothing’s wrong . . . .
Turdling: You’re bleeding.
Colm: That’s from my nose.
Turdling Then what happened to your nose?
Colm: I had a little misunderstanding on the way over, on The Uber.
Turdling; The Uber?
Colm: The car service.
Turdling: I know what it is, I’m making fun of you.
Colm: Thanks very much, I’m injured, you son of a bitch.
Turdling: You just said it was nothing.
Colm: Well it’s something now isn’t it?
What was supposed to be a quick drink . . . Oh let’s face it, with Colm there’s no such thing.
The Observations of A.E. Turdling 