In your spring hat, tied with lost string, you search the free paper for clues for which day you now finds yourself waiting. Because waiting on the corner beat today in the rain for the next delivery, is receiving disturbed glances from local windows and trolley men. And the steady clump of wet shoe against cracked kerbstone drunk is shadowing a high street roaring with anger over closure and debt, where even the most fucked up has memories when called upon. Is called survival so it is.
***
So; you's been shadow hunting? You fucker. Isn't nice. Know what I means? And it sure doesn't look as if it is going to end well either because peoples already got their mobiles out and others are instinctively putting their hands over stash's and stolen wallets.
***
From the stickered shop window the tidy looking young women shakes a weary head at the nasty row growing on the pavement outside. It was always about dodgy deals and money owed. Always. And she's really sick of seeing the same exhausted faces. The sound of blues up the street usually moved on most, but not all and CCTV(s) are already being clicked off, wiped or removed.
***
Stolen trainers and suede overcoat; owed wraps, scissored finger tips, sellotaped glass', fake tan and orange lipstick; kitchen knife strapped underneath skateboards, grey trade tracksuits and knitted beanies.
***
Seen wearing cheap cloths they's always got expensive rings and expensive boxfresh. Go figure. Seems weird to most, but is accepted down the street because knowledge is learnt early round here. Everyone knows, you don't learn, you's a loser. And that's where you don't ever want to be. Reputations is made young and lasts. Everyone knows this, don't they? Is fucking first lesson for fucks sake!
***
You catch snatch's of stoned smiles floating through the smoked out windows of passing stolen number plates. Everyone knows the street cliches and seems to love them round here. And not ironically, ironically.
Steve Coel
