A Flickering Light

It has been close to a year since I knocked on the door of the British consulate at Tenerife and mumbled some story about losing my passport after a night drinking. I'm not sure what led me to lie that day. The police officer I first accosted spoke very little English, so I played the drunken tourist routine to save time. By the time I reached the consulate I guess I just wanted it all to end. Since then, I had been unable to set the record straight. Many times I tried drafting a police report, but when it came to describing the nature of the crime I drew a blank. Oh to be sure, crimes had been committed, and very unpleasant crimes at that. Enough, if proven in a court of law, to put the culprit away for a very long time. Yet on paper they all seemed so petty. Certainly nothing that could lead me to denounce a man who had once considered me his friend. Whereas the crime, the grave offence that sent my moral compass spinning, could very well pass uncondemned before the law.