Woken up to frying pan, that don’t smell like bacon?! Hard stuff to chew. No alarm.
Flash forward to the desk where there is an elephant painting dark grey clouds on the swollen nictotine roof, did he make me a coffee? Did he fuck?
I fall west and my head bumps against the window, its cool, not Chuck Berry cool, just cool. I wake up in oppisite a hairdressers in Bristol and there’s coffee there. You and I are sharing the same apprehension about being noticed, we didn’t want to be. It was perfect just as it was with the whole room in a haze and your rose maze lips twisting and turning to the tune of michael jackson.. strange though cos it was Dirty Diana, Michael Jackson, you seemed to like it though without wonder or wander I forget. How come we didn’t speak as fell west again on that velvet morning, it was november but warm…
In plymouth train station i had to carry my parker, my bag and I think I had about eight or nine newspapers under my arm, ‘its a three hour journey’ I thought. I sort of knew to myself that I was just gonna read the sun and have a kip on the table but promised myself i’d stay awake long enough to see that little village across the bay and those red cliffs that you go through like the indiana jones ride at disney. Cass(?) Maccombs(?) in the headphones, was a pretty nice way to cure that bittersweet Plymouth heat and haughty cheap life rum, knife, that dick head putting the moves on me forgetting that i was already four years his senior and his mockney charm wasn’t disguising his fred perry head to toe and cannon ball versace.
Best moments were a muse, i used to just sit in that book shop for hours waiting for you reading the poetry cos i could read that start to end without the worry of missing the CLIMAX before the college kids dropped out. Alone in berlin, la bohene, heart of darkness and all those other secret reads, the beatles were here i think on that light house cliff that plugs the drip between military ocean and scorpion sky.
Those colourful houses where I said i’d live one day loosen my legs and up the hills i go. Neanderthals in tow I was lifting those heavy boots that I’d bought online and you said they reminded you of a better time. I said I’ll be in your dream if you in mine. Anything could’ve made that walk less indulgent, “put the gold in the stars”. The notion that those pavements had platinum roots made them all the more slippery thus low and behold I went down and cut my knees.. how can afford to replace these i thought. And there again stood harm in arms with some football player from the late 90’s. I think he played for… fucking Oldham?
Th sham, the shang gang the two bit puddle fame that welcomes its victims with hooded love and captures the true essence of “yer not from round ‘ere are ya lad?’ Open a can of fanta and pass it around sh’esonly drinking now.
And me.. one side o my heads gone numb and steamed up the window, and the right side? I’d she went out with than some dope. Back to the phones kids, that’s enough for another morning.
