On: Big Data

Faceless

I went over to Tom’s to offer support,
he’s going through a divorce.
The TV, running in the background, was distracting
but he didn’t have any streamed music,
his credits had run out.
So we chatted about his divorce
to a backdrop of Eastenders.

After a few moments Faceless let himself in
with the master key.
You’ll have seen his type around,
they’re everywhere these days,
non-descript features, shady.

We carried on chatting and Faceless joined us on the sofa,
taking notes.
Tom ignored him, so did I;
never gave him a second thought to be honest.
After a while Faceless got up and checked the TV’s history,
Tom coloured a little, then went to the kitchen to brew up.

Faceless checked the filing cabinet.
Tom has a key, it’s in a security box taped to the back.
Faceless found it and had a go at the password
but D-1-V-0-R-C-E was never going to be much of a challenge.
Faceless was soon rifling, at speed, through the private papers.

Tom came back with the tea,
rolled his eyes at me.
After a while Faceless went upstairs,
God knows why.
We could hear his feet creaking the boards
but paid no mind.
“I’m hoping she’ll let me have contact with the dog,” said Tom,
as Faceless reappeared in the lounge.
He checked around, tided up after himself, a bit.

When the front door clicked shut
I said, ‘You’ll be bombarded with adverts now.’
Tom sniffed, shrugged his shoulders,
“What can you do?”
He turned the TV to the music channel,
his credits were full again.
We listened to Coltrane on sax, “I Want to Talk About You”.

 

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