With a treasured night off, I awoke yesterday wondering about my passenger from Dirty Money. Something was bugging me. Something a respondent had said earlier, pertaining to truth in my work and the people deciding.
This had me wondering as I lay in bed, the afternoon sun washing through my blog cave. Namely, what a writer/blogger/recorder of life presents to an audience, and what one chooses to omit.
It’s strange this character came to mind after laying dormant in my subconscious for 12 months or more. Until now, I’d not known if I could present him, and hadn’t really understood him, but neither was I perturbed. As such I'd forgotten about him.
Only now he is published, coupled with the subsequent feedback, do I realise what a complex mind-fucker he truly was. A sex-obsessed demoraliser. Back then, I did not pity him. He was just another after-dark loser, recklessly playing with fire. And I don’t pity him now. See what you think...