By 
The sky was red for a long time. Then it was black. I couldn’t tell how long I’d been standing there looking up. Or if it was morning or night.
All of a sudden I realised I was freezing cold.
I began to walk but I didn’t know which direction I was headed.
I had no idea where, or who I was.
I kept walking… regardless.
In the blind hope of finding some kind of clue or sign to remind me exactly where I was.
Sooner or later something was bound to come back to me.
But it didn’t.
It was a long stretch.
The roads were empty.
And so was I.
I had become a mere shadow of my former mere shadow.
All I knew was I knew nothing.
Figments started to come back to me, eventually.
Scattered memories.
Shattered images.
Oh yes.
I was playing some kind of gig last night…
But.
Was it last night?
Or was it last year?
Visions of playing Blind Blake’s Breakdown with the guitar behind my head.
But playing it wrongly.
A party trick gone wrong.
My hand coordination had turned askew.
This could happen.
Especially when Mezcal is the beverage of choice.
The taste of it was still in my mouth – and all of a sudden I felt like puking.
By Mark McCausland
Art by Christoper Coll