Chambers and the Rain

I hear the rain beating down. Puddles form from drip invasion so we sprinkle wood shavings to mop it up. Dust sludge.
My eyes grow dim, as though my subconscious seeks blindness, oblivion. Yet I stumble on, mistake and mis measure, mis judgements, mis aimed tools skid off the surface. Part of me is elsewhere. Because the truth is consciousness can only focus on one place at a time. Subconscious, the dark fish swim beneath the surface, problems that rise to take a fly, like trout, and smash away my concentration on the work in hand.
I see texs shadow slip out of view. My peripheral vision takes in a discarded coat or jumper on the floor and I sees it for him. The flat I rented for him needs vacating so I drop what I'm doing, borrow boxes and dismantle the brief home. To be fair we were there a month before we knew it couldn't work.
Just a chore now to box up. Rent a shipping container and lock away my papers, my books, my writing, my drawing, lock away my thoughts.
In the boot of David's Mercedes we share war stories. He delivers the spindle cutters ian has ground. Chambers rings from gear tree. He seems resigned to his fifteen years, though waits months and months for solicitors to answer letters he sent them, that sit under coffee cups waiting their attention. His miscarriage of justice is joint enterprise. A man was killed, chambers was there, or near enough to know what happened. He waited for the murderer to stick his hand up, to say, "it was me, the others were just there." But the murderer is not a noble man. His desire to stay free trumped his loyalty to chambers and they all went down .I told him he wouldn't be a grass, not in these circumstances. But his traveller code prevented him coming forward. Now he waits for his appeal. But the killer is making one too, and what could his be other than to try stick the whole package on chambers shoulders.
So I stay In contact. Low rite him letters., send him a few quid. A truly shit place to wind up.
We all spiralled out of control, those two years ago. They left us broken. I don't drink anymore. But I do wish I had a way to put a fresh outlook on.
And the rain beats down outside. So I put my tools away, for another day.