All in a hot and copper sky
The bloody sun at noon

Coleridge demands ice. Ice for his gin and tonic. “I must have ice,” says he. There is no ice. There is no refrigerator, never mind a freezer.

Crowley likes things hot. “Fuck the ice!” screams Crowley. “Drink your gin and be done with it. There’s stuff to do. Altars to be prepared and the floor could do with a few more symbols. Do something useful and shut the fuck up.”

Coleridge downs his G&T, pours another and does the same again. He takes out his marker pen and writes on the wall:

a crack a growl
a roar a howl
ICE WOZ HERE

Paul Conneally
10th October, 2026
Cefalù, Sicily