I was running late, the rain poured down and steam prevented me from seeing through the windows of the double decker bus. "Alexandra Palace..." a monotonous voice said, it sounded like my destination so off the bus I came. I climbed the stairs to the palace and stood outside the doors. I then began to feel out of place. I was surrounded by people producing tobacco smoke and sporting ID chains. It was still raining so I was reluctant to leave the shelter of the palace's entrance too look around. Not wanting to be late, I finally looked around, as soon as I left the shelter I realised where I was. This was not the Ice Rink, it was the other side of the palace, the conference side.I eventually found by party, in a queue with many younger than myself. As we queued, the rest or our party arrived. As we landed on the ice, someone proposed a game of tag, it's more than possible that the person was myself. This game was unlike any game of tag I had played, no-one knew who was "it". Solving the mystery was the focal point of our game so it got rather boring. I attempted to turn it into a noir mystery but no-one was up to it.
There were holes in the ice, holes in the ice. Holes that were out to get you humble narrator, and they succeed twice. Yes, twice I had bear the cold ice the rink floor. No, thrice. The third time I was pushed. I have my suspicions about who it was but even I could not be sure. After more skating and crazy antics we traided our blades for our shoes and my friends, Converse All Stars never felt so great.
I attempted to write that in noir style but it clearly didn't work out well. I seem to have lost my ability to write. Oh well. Rae Charles' slendiferious writin ability more than makes up for it.
A little tribute to the real noir, a great scene from the film noir, The Big Sleep. Gotta love Bogart.
