The Sixth Blog

The basil sorbet had begun to melt, its death throes leaking from its body and creating around the edges of my plate, an outline; a crescent of green liquid. But in spite of its dashing colour and ability to perform acrobatics, the sorbet was disgusting, especially alongside the panna cotta. I was told before I had ordered it that a panna cotta was a pastry. It was actually some kind of crème jelly, and certainly by the contrast of the sorbet and keeping in mind the disappointment of a lack of pastry, was extremely delicious.

My companion was sat to my right, next to the window. He was an old man: his face contorted with wrinkles and education. The bright light from the window kept my companion in shadow- from my place, I could barely make out his blue eyes, dulled from years of piteous existence, masked by years of success and publication, or his white eyebrows, which charmingly matched his hair… or what was left of it. Often we would discuss the benefits of suicide, and the various regimes of the world, and the greatest of philosophies. Often I would sit, enthralled for hours by his strong views- views with which I would never quite agree, but would argue about earnestly. He was a lecturer from my University, someone who I had instantly loved from the moment he told us to punch polar bears as a means of combating the idea of environmentalism. He had retired as I entered my third year, but we had still kept in contact. We had one meeting in this same place a few months prior, and I had spoke about my dissertation and my grand plans for the future. Now, we had met in this same place to talk following graduation. We hadn’t ordered dessert during our previous meeting. It was he who had misinformed me about the pastry. He had also just asked me to have sex with him. Read the rest of this entry »