Writing for Fun
June 2019
Twilight - Jan Norman
He showered and dressed with casual elegance in an expensive short sleeved shirt of subdued hues of creams and browns and cream jeans and loafers.
With his long curly shoulder length hair, moustache and small beard still damp from the shower he grabbed the whiskey bottle and glass and carried them over to the comfortable lounger near the hotel suite window.
Wincing a little at the pain of his arthritis as he threw himself down on the couch made him realise that if he was going to survive the evening to come he would need to imbibe a fair amount of the golden liquid along with a generous handful of pain killers. He had to get the balance right – enough to be able to dull the pain but not too much that it dulled his senses or interfered with the workings of the many and varied medicines deemed necessary in today’s battle against ageing.
As he poured out a generous measure of the bourbon he caught sight of his hands and arms; a plethora of rings and bracelets could not disguise their emaciation. His hands were laced with the telltale corded veins and melanin spots, the sort that only come with old age. Still at seventy one, he mused, he could not grumble. He still had most of his faculties.
Half an hour later, mellow with booze and pills he had a sudden thought that made him smile. I suppose I must be in what romantics call my twilight years. He laughed out loud. Well so be it but I am not going down without a fight.
Minutes later a tap on the door followed by a disembodied voice calling out, ‘Transport has arrived,’ made Robert pick himself up from the couch, pick up his guitar and head for the door. Tonight the lads and I have a reunion concert to perform at Carnegie Hall.