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  • Jimmy Broccoli

Keith Flint or Jason Williamson? Both -Yeah & Of Course

He and I are at a fancy restaurant

that neither one of us can easily afford –

there aren’t prices listed on the menu – and that makes me nervous –

but I smile at him anyway from across the table –

as the overdressed waiter lights the virgin candle wick encased in the glass globe on our table

he creates fire with a quick flash of a single match –

as if it’s magic


The room looks like Christmas –

if your idea of Christmas includes strings of seemingly never-ending white lights –

draped across the windows, draped across the dimly lit bar

and draped along the cemetery wrought-iron railings just inside of the entrance –

the glow from the string lights only slightly eclipses the darkness of the room’s shadowy woods and black metal chairs that scrap against the concrete floor when pulled out or pushed in –

it’s modern farmhouse chic - with a touch of steampunk –

with the feel of a classy 1950s noir mystery novel thrown in


I haven’t been this excited in a very long time


I order a white wine and he orders a “pint of your finest –

with a single glass” –

which makes the overdressed waiter momentarily pause

as if he must have misheard the request

“a pint of your finest with a single glass” my date repeats

and I can’t help but chuckle, slightly


Is that cologne emanating from his side of the table?

It’s very manly man and woodsy with hints of leather, cinnamon, and…

Burberry – or, perhaps…

Fucking hell - I’m just making shit up and have no idea what I’m fuckin’ talking about

(I’ve seen too many fragrance commercials on the tele, it seems - LOL)


… he does smell nice though



He’s a mechanic – like - he fixes cars and shit at the place down the road from my flat –

that’s how we met –

“You’re a touch handsome, mate” he tells me with a smile from across the service counter –

after he catches me noticing his broad shoulders and his jawline that goes on for miles…

I don’t know what to say so I say with a sneer, “well - ya ain’t exactly ugly, eh” –

and it’s one of those moments I want to disappear – like immediately –

because I know I’ve said something really stupid –

and he reacts with a smile – slightly deviant - and certainly devilish

“Tonight, 7 o’clock at the pub down that way (he slightly jerks his head to the right to indicate the direction he is referring to),

- the pub witout (his accent leaves out the “h”) the neon in the window?”, he asks

“I think it’s called a restaurant”, I reply

“If they serve suds, it’s a pub”, he grins

“Yeah, I’ll meet you at the restra.. erm, at the pub – 7 o’clock – the pub without the neon”, I repeat

(and I’m absolutely certain my face is turning a couple shades of red)


I leave the shop and my skin feels tingly – like it’s on fire (without the burn) –

and I’m not sure what this means



“Fucking hell” he says out loud and slightly aggravated –

“I’ve got 2 forks, 2 knives and a spoon at the top of this empty plate”, he observes - and he looks confused

I quickly reply while elegantly pointing, “salad, entrée, butter, entrée, and for dessert or mid-course sorbet – a second spoon will be brought to the table if you order both”

(“and a third will be brought to the table if you drop one on the ground”, I think silently) – “and the charger is a placeholder for your real plate that will have food on it”, I continue

– and he looks at me like my head is bright green and I am an alien

“Or – perhaps – I am mistaken”, I say with a laugh –

as the overdressed waiter refills my near empty glass of white wine


“Blur or Oasis?” he asks minutes after our entrees are presented and his entrée fork is already in the mashed potatoes

“Is that even a question?”, I ask and observe

“Blur, of course” I say – and I see his handsome face distort in playful disapproval –

I can see this in spite of the dim and romantic mood-lighting –

“That is not correct”, he jeers

– “the right answer is Oasis” – “they’re the next Beatles, eh?”



“Can I walk you home?” he asks –

and he looks like a boy when he asks this question –

while standing tall and broad and handsome –

and I cannot think of better words than “rugged & charming” to describe his demeanor and presentation

“Yeah – you can walk me home”, I reply – smiling from ear to ear -

a bit pissed and looking forward to another glass of wine after arriving at my flat

“I have a pint at my flat – it’s of the absolute finest (!)”, I jeer and then I laugh out loud, drunkenly and sloppily


“Maybe, mate” – but first –

“Beatles or the Stones?”

“The Beatles”, I reply – “with John first and Paul a distant second”

- “Ding Ding (!) – the handsome gent gets the right answer” he declares as he smiles and looks at me with a gentle tenderness I was not expecting



His name is Stephen

He is one of the mechanics at the shop down the road from my flat

I drink a few white wines and he drinks a pint or two when we visit the pub

… and we visit fairly regularly after we both get off work


He’s amazing – he’s absolutely amazing - handsome, smart, & fun…

And he feels the same about me



It’s a few weeks after and we’re in my bedroom at my flat –

and it’s morning –

… because he didn’t make it home when the previous night ended –


I ask, “Bowie or Peter Murphy?” – and he looks at me as if I am insane

“Fuckin’ both, of course – what the fuck else, mate?”, he replies and answers – and I say, “Ding Ding (!) – you have chosen the right answer!”


He then kisses me passionately (especially for a morning kiss) –

and I grab him inappropriately for several seconds before he, hesitantly, puts on his trousers and braces before heading out the door for work



It’s 3:00 pm the next day and he’s on his lunch break –

he rings me at my work –

“Meet me at the pub at 7:00 pm? – the pub witout the neon lights?”, he says

“You mean at the restaurant?”, I jeer

“Yeah, there” he says into the receiver with a smile I can hear –

…and I can almost feel his breath upon my skin…

“7 o’clock at the pub”, I repeat


I hang up my phone, and my skin feels tingly like it is on fire (without the burn) – on fire lit from a single match


…And he is the match

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