Old Peculiar
An Old Peculiar is slid back on the table. She returns to her book. The room is still. Outside night falls. This is her evening.
Always the same.
5pm is when she gives up. She hoovers with violence. She hangs the laundry. She wipes away evidence. She washes dishes like she’s rinsing blood from her hands. Then the Old Peculiar slips on to the table, for the first time that evening.
She turns the page.
The audiobook is fast. Lines are washed from her eyes as words sink in her ears. The book in her hand is also on her phone’s screen. It makes her click the phone off more quickly than usual. She hates her secret need.
One or the other, and she drifts.
An Old Peculiar is a creature that lives in the glass. It mirrors the face of the drinker. It makes the drinker feel bound to the beer inside. She sees this Old Peculiar and smiles at it. He is her reading partner. But only after a certain point. Before that, he is the noise.
She is staring at the pages.
She has had too many. The Old Peculiars inside her nullify the other nagging worry she has, of a creeping addiction. They warm her instead. They are comfort under the cover of night.
The story is audio alone. She always hopes when she manages audio alone, or just the book, perhaps she’s overcome the condition.
She glances at the bottle.
A glance becomes a gaze.
She puts the book down.
Every evening.
Patrick Zimmermann is a writer and musician based in the North Yorkshire Moors.