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The Way Home Waving

The people in the boat waved as they went by. It was dark out, and the lights were on in the boat and the people, silhouetted, so that I could not see them true, waved to me. I waved back. It was dark out, nighttime, and I had coped through a few drinks and was feeling the worse for it and for the lack of attentions paid me at the place where I had been drinking, and I was feeling quite lonely and resigned, and I was walking home, alone, and the sight of a lot of cheery people having a nice time on a boat and waving to me through the windows brightened me somewhat. When I waved back, and smiled, there seemed to be a lot of cheering and clapping and they continued to wave as they went off past me and until they were gone.

I walked home, alone.

It was only when I had put down my bag, turned on the lights, turned on the television, and settled down to doze in front of a microwave heated pasty, that it occurred to me it was a very dry evening and very quiet, and there had been very little traffic, and very little people, and I had not passed a single body of water on my way home, and in fact when I had seen the boat and its waving people I had been crossing the road in the direction of the park which had a lot of waving trees but does not have any water and had as many people as the pavements which was none excepting myself.

To this, I profess less worry at the basic presence of the boat than where it was headed, and less worry at the presence of the people than why they were so very happy to see me.



John Banning lives in Jolly England and writes some things and dreams too much and hopes you might enjoy his other (published/comingsoon) work in Maudlin House and Rejection Letters.

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