THE LETTER - Monday - f. ননীগোপাল

CLONES OF KRISHNA 

f. ননীগোপাল = synonym/clone of f. কৃষ্ণ

লাউৰা নীতি by f. Nazis.

Kishalay Sinha কিশলয় সিনহা [G]

ACCENT REDUCTION 

Accent Reduction: An Introduction (1:39:07) / U of SC* Center for Teaching... (YouTube)

[*U of SC = University of South Carolina]

I have started watching this video, though a rather long video, because I always feel great interest in language and literature, and especially because "accent reduction" in the title reminded Me of showoffs who use FAKE British and American accents to impress and awe newbies.

Kishalay Sinha [G]

THE LETTER 

'So. Jasmine. You broke into my house -'

'I had a key.'

'- to retrieve a letter that you say that you wrote for someone else. Why wouldn't you just tell me that?'

'Because I was afraid that you would open it. It's very personal and I don't trust you.'

You hold a finger up. 'Plausible. Well done. I would have read it.'

(p. 290)

* * * 

Monday 

Monday and I are lying in my bed. It is August. It is ten p.m. and my curtains are open. The sky is still bright. I am in a wonderful bubble of bliss, lying naked with Monday, bathing in after-sex glory and contentment. I'm looking out at the sky, marvelling at the red sky.

'Red sky at night,' I start to say, and then your face suddenly appears in the window. 'Ahhhhhhhhh! Arrrrrrgggghhh!'

I almost give Monday a heart attack, jumping up and pulling the sheets around me, getting tangled in the process.

'Jesus bloody Christ,' Monday screams when he sees you.

You start laughing, a depraved lunatic sound, and I can see from your wired eyes that you're drunk.

'Nice trellising,' you shout, knocking on the window and I'm beginning to regret constructing the climbing frame [trellis] on the wall of my house that leads to my bedroom window.

Monday groans.

'I think he's drunk,' I say.

'You think?'

I look at him.

I open the front door in my robe, and find you sitting at the table in your garden. You're wearing a tuxedo.

I whistle.

You swear at me.

'I see he finally gave you a job,' you say, and then snort and laugh that disgusting filthy chesty laugh again. You're back on the cigarettes tonight too.

'You forgot to cut your grass today,' I say.

'Keep your opinions to yourself, Delia Smith.'

'She's a chef.'

'Fuck off.'

You're angry tonight, Matt. You finish the bottle of beer then throw it across the road. It breaks on my side of the path. Monday peers out the window, sees that I'm okay and disappears again.

'What happened tonight?'

'I went to the radio awards. I wasn't nominated. I was disgusted. I told them so. Said a few other things about a few other people who haven't been there for me like they should have been. Said it on stage into the microphone so everyone could hear what I had to say nice and loud. The organisers didn't like my behaviour. So they fucked me out of there.'

(p.303) 

(From cecelia ahern: "THE YEAR I MET YOU", HarperCollinsPublishers)

Kishalay Sinha [G] July 31, 2020