Laughter and Confusion

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.

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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.