The Life of Mrs. Toussaint

The past 70 years of her life had been reasonably peaceful. She now lived alone in her own house, had satellite TV, fed her cat everyday and tried to minimize her daily amount of gossip. Mrs Toussaint was, after all, a God-fearing woman who went to church every Sunday. She would usually nod while sweeping her yard - yes, it's peaceful in here.

Things changed ever since her new neighbours moved in.

She now knew what Finnish metal music sounded like. Her everyday sweeping came with techno, and late-night shows ruined by un-subbed japanese anime. She might also have overheard a few porns or two, involving more than two persons at once, but her mind had already blocked those out.

Yes, beeches, I'm in Quatre-Bornes and back to blogging!

Sayonara Mec

Mec, you bastard, I never thought I'd have to dedicate a post to you. It's been months since I posted anything on my blog, but today I thought I should.

I lost count of the number of times we were drunk together. Drinking never seemed to be what you did best. You were always out well before us, and we'd take you back home. You always managed to say a few words of thanks, before passing out again. The following day, you'd be there, by the beach, smiling.

I never really found anything bad with you. You should be awarded Flic-en-Flac's nicest guy. It was fun when you were around, even if you never really said much. You just smiled. And sometimes you'd laugh at silly jokes. It's weird but I never heard you say anything bad against anyone.

I took that pic of you during the good days. D'you remember that day, Mec? We all spent the whole of Saturday together, and even if we got kicked off Ahmed's chairs afterwards, we were still laughing. The next day, you were telling me about your girlfriend and why she left you. I'm sorry about her mec. She knows what she missed, I'm sure about that.

Mec, the good days are gone man. They won't ever come back. Mec, you died, and the good days are gone. You kicked the bucket at the age of 26. Mec you knew, didn't you? That's why you were getting quieter, day after day? And that picture, how could I know it would be the last picture of you? I could never know Mec. Had I known, I'd never have left your bedside last time. I'd talk to you, made you laugh a little bit more.

Mec, I miss you, it's bad.