Brock Dundee and I returned to New York. We had no problem with our flight to JFK. The Scotsman stayed a day to see our friend Dannatt put on a show with Eric Mitchell, an infamous B-movie persona. Brock paid me the performance.

“I want to get back to London. I hope this helps you get to Thailand.”

“Good luck with your film.” I planned on leaving for Asia within two weeks.

“You’ll be in it.”

The two of us hugged and the next day he was gone.

I became gone too and spent a week in Bannok with Angie. She cried at my leaving. I cried too. Her mother had only spoke to me twice and I considered myself lucky not to have been stabbed in my sleep.

Fenway, Mam, and I had a good month in SriRacha. We ate fish every night. When I visited Angie again, Mam and I had a big fight. I was deaf to everyone, but my kids.

August went fast in New York. I worked five days a week on 47th Street and went to Fort Tilden on the weekends.

Barry Flanagan passed that month.

I called Brock.

“He was happy to see our trip and all the rest. I’m working hard on the film. I’m hoping to finish it by the Spring.”

Winter in New York lasted a long time.

My father passed in November 2010.

Richie Boy and Manny stiffed me for a commish with an NBA player.

I quit and traveled back to Thailand.

I loved my kids.

Peter Bach’s friend Alice offered me a writer’s residence in Europe.

I had a last meal in NYC.

I loved living in Europe.

Its ruins held stories.

In October L’Ambassador, Dannatt, and I met Brock at a gallery showing his wife’s works. I loved Joanna’s paintings.

“I finished my film. It won an award in Ireland. I’ll be screening the movie next month in London.”

“We’ll be there.” Dannatt had five minutes in the film.

FLANAGAN’S WAKE appeared at the British Film Forum in Jan. 2012. I showed for the event. Dannatt was there too. I was in the film about thirty seconds. Brock labeled me ‘underground writer’.

I suspected Dannat had a hand in that, but I sat through the movie and found myself moved by the pace and intent of my friend’s effort.

It was important.

This film.

Not for Brock and his wife.

Or his friends.

I walked from the event and entered the Tube.

Sitting down in the train I shut my eyes and felt the movement of the train.

Brock had made something special and the tattoo of his effort was screened within the eyelids.

I could see.

Not just look.

It’s all about light.

As was in the beginning.

As was in the end.

The road runs in all directions and Barry Flanagan knew this same as the rest of us do in our hearts.

And we know who we are, don’t we?

Hares.

Not Rabbits.