a memory ... or a great ape - click here to buy a book

Memory, late-August 2016, some men's bullshit magazine, picked up in the barbers, flipped thru, reading the copy but not the art of a NOKIA advert selling me, asking me to buy again, my phone.

Back then, the ad begins. Did you think about life much? I think you did. I remember. You in bed, it was like an ash-pit, which you typed, all those spliffs, cigs. Or not cigs, too expensive. It was rollups.

The second paragraph I'm sure says: How did we end up in this room for seven years? It's a coverted attic, kind of a garret maybe. Poet's are known to live in garrets. I'm not a poet. I feel like a poet though.

And the next line of this NOKIA page I read before my haircut says: Remember the night we ... yeah. You asked: What is the model of your mobile phone?

Then it goes something like: I didn't know. I didn't care what model. It didn't say on the handset so you undid the plastic cover and the battery said BL-5CB. Then you went online. The model of mobile was the NOKIA 105. You told me: It cost £20 from Fone Spot in Rusholme. After you paid and walked out the shop the man who sold it laughed loudly and I thought: At you or me?

I defo remember the last line cos it locked in my brain like a bone in a throat I thought when getting my haircut, the barber shaving a number five, an almost crewcut. It says, the last line: Perhaps it says something about the empty spaces in your life, the model, about what you forget and it's filled by a _____ ringtone.

Having a bath that night, the water cool, I asked: Why that omission? Cos the sound? I'm not here.