On the edge of Town.

On the corner of the street bathe in a scary strip joint blue neon, the corner bar accepts the outsider locals into it’s arms with a squeeze and a smile, We missed you! Where have you been? Older broads chatter at the door already resigned to the fact they’ll be doing kebabs later, deep cherry lipstick, they smoke through gossip filled stories of the new girl, the young one at the bar. Inside the Dj with his Sony laptop drops shit tunes in sequence, desperate to get the locals onside, another JD and coke will lube the wheels and the girls remember, tap their feet to the sound of a las Vegas legend. Sick dirty thoughts from local boy Charlie Psycho, he sold us cakes and videos from a cold van back in the day, tried to feel us up but tonight alone he stands at the bar with a Liverpool away shirt on his back accessorized with gold and an Aids band on his wrist, sadly bald, gay latency and ready for the hassle. drinking too much cider, wandering eyes and a dirty right hand.

He spots the older birds at the door, smoking, laughing loud and remembers his luck ran out, another pint from his bar man friend, winking its okay, he sings his favorite song below his breath, another loner with no friend- no memory home.
He spots the single girl on her own at the bar, staring blank at the mute Xfactor feed on the plasma, she’s out of it, insecure drunk on Bacardi and lost in a dream of stardom pretend made plainly true by sad magazines and promises of the famous judges.
No one notices the football hooligan slide up beside her and the smell of his sadness too strong “Don’t I know you?” he’s broken into a sweat “Yeah” she says shifting “You gave me Ma a dig once”

The silence is overlapped by the screaming kids on the other side of the room, the other side of the world, he backs off and she stares at the Telly and nearly making out what the singers are saying, they get voted off anyway, no surprise the story ends sadly and the night is the same as usual.

Crap blokes from the flats trying to score young ones, all lashed together with sticky drink and wraps of coke and chargrilled Lamb, the end of days are here with the weekend flashing shut.
The strip joint blue fades down and the deafening scream in the dawn… desperate, hungry, no taxis to the better side of town.

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