Laughter and
Confusion
This place needs
fucking bombing, what is this hellhole, who are we to ruin such a wonderful
thing. Most intelligent race? Still yet to see why. Swallow some acid that will
make things better. Things are really turning now; this night is warping
through time. We need to get out. The wind is daunting, clouds swirling.
We leave the
repeating box, which had been occupied with only laughter and confusion for the
past 6 hours.
The dawn is sharp,
brisk times are to follow, easy to forget that. We walked past a polish woman
who was obviously a little bewildered into why 3 creatures of a ketamine binge
were walking in circles around the cold streets at that time, wearing highly
inappropriate clothing for the climate, looking through emerald tinted
sunglasses. We expressed our good gestures to her nonetheless. Three times in
fact. She was not best pleased. “Nobody wants to know you at this time of the
morning, nobody needs to know you! Crack heads and hobos rule ok during these
hours”.
We stood on the
waters edge after much hesitation, in fear of being engulfed by the tireless
cold liquids, battling the god-forsaken winds. The only thank was the lack of
rain. The skies opened suddenly. Time for warmth.
After walking into
the nearest sweat-ridden burger joint, housed to a fair few peculiar looking
eccentrics, we came across a young lad with similar interests to our own. He
just wasn’t handling it well. Desperate for a Coca-Cola, jaw swinging and eyes
rolling deep into his green skull. Few words were exchanged with this
particular creature of the night. He was having a whale of a time.
* * * * * * * *
Back to base, not
sure what the reception will be like, but no choice really. The smell of the
stale night is rife now. More ketamine and many brews were on the cards, not to
mention the endless amount of tobacco consumed. A blooter quickly inhaled to
take the edge off. The sun is starting to glow brightly filling our headspace
with joy and brightness, just what we needed. I knew I had a long trip ahead of
me, with confrontation waiting for me at the end. Get your shit together
son. Back home to get ready for the next
adventure, bleak streets and wandering heads surround us like never before. I
quickly made a detour to pick up more consumables for the voyage fast
approaching.
50 minutes out of
Manchester, starting to feel the night I was still living. Visuals still
mashed. I took a seat on, what seemed like the busiest train I had encountered,
everybody staring. I proceeded to revive my broadsheet newspaper in order to
look sophisticated to others around me, who had by far already noticed my
pupils were indifferent. Although I couldn’t make head or tail of the letters
travelling around the page, as long as it looked like I was reading that was
enough for me. My face was probably an inch away from the newsprint but at the
time I felt I got away with it. I noticed the ticket inspector in the
reflection of the glass. My heart sank, I felt sick. The trick is on these
trains is to pay on your card, not that mine had any money to pay. “Denied” he
expressed. I then proceeded to tell him that there was plenty of money on the
card and that it was his machine that was faulty. He then explained that I
could sign for it if I had any identification.
Not a chance in hell was I telling him who is was.
I said “I can
leave you my details, if it helps” with the full intention of using some
unsuspecting persons home address. “ No that’s fine brother”, he exclaimed, “it
is when people don’t say they will give you your details that we have a
problem”.
Suits me, even in
my condition I had managed to swindle somebody out of paying. I couldn’t help
but feel proud of myself.
Sat across from
me, once that ordeal was over, was an odd looking man. Not sure whether that
was because of my impaired vision or the fact that he had mutants growing fast
out of his neck. His arm twitching like an itchy ferret. Not experiencing good
vibes from this gentleman. Every time I looked up from my scrambled newspaper,
I caught his eye. Was he staring at me with his cold eyes the whole time?
Forget this being, you don’t need the stress.
By the time I had
got over the thought of the creepy reptilian sitting across from me, I was
nearly at my destination. I had noticed a youth, similar in age to myself,
running frantically with his bike in order to catch this train. A part of me
was wishing him luck, not thinking he would be approaching me before I had
forgotten about him. He sat beside me in the adjacent quad of dead-skin cell
covered seats, brandishing nothing but a bag of what smelt like stale alcohol.
I liked this man instantly.
I hear the painful
crack of a can beside me, after a quick glance to the right; I recognize the
brand instantly- Super Scholl- 9% beer, known locally as ‘tramp juice’. The
ticket man quickly arrived again. The ale wielding man, not surprisingly used
the same ticket scam as I just did, I couldn’t help but smile, nearly to give
the game away when the inspector squinted at me wondering if this was
co-incidence or conspiracy. The only issue was my associate pulled it off a lot
cooler than I did. That didn’t sit well with me but I put it down to my
intoxication.
Presuming I was
getting close to my destination, I gathered my belongings and headed for the
noisy double doors. Stood there for what seemed like an eternity, very aware of
those around me, the doors finally opened. I headed into the busy city streets
still sporting a pair of knock off ray-ban’s with Frank Sinatra’s ‘fly me to
the moon’ blasting through my headphones, only for it to start raining. The
music induced me to thinking I was in a foreign land enjoying blissful heat, my
clothing said the same.
I, by this time,
received many abnormal stares from the public. I had arrived at my destination,
I was home. Wandering into the darkness.
