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Here it is.
Weekend Pass [ Extracts].
Slipping along the road overlooking the small town, you see greeting you in the distance, hills and mountains and a grey dismal sky disgusted with seeping sighs.
Slipping into stockings through glass windows, in dim lit bars drinking whiskey and beer at a dockyard jetty, we watch a boat heading south for the pole and adventure.
Dragging battered shoes across a beach of sand and rock we walk around the the camp surrounded by rusting wire and guarded by uniforms.
Inside cellars of music and cheap meat, middle aged women and American sailors careen and preen and scream like angels of delight.
Jingling against glory bars the sea beats against broken yards, bodies grasp and slide quietly, quickly, desperately into nightclub memories and daytime stories.
Fairground rides in broken jeans and girls crying out in astonishment while eating dripping candy laced with smirks.
Back Yard
c. Steve Coel / Two Voices
Young men show off to each other, clumping around looking for new highs amongst grim stickers and clips of money.
Against hard bodies young children glare at old timers who click tongues and smoke tipless cigarettes.
From aging busses old ladies crow and clutter promenades.
We share a coffee shop delight and sample evil greasy dishes of potato and meat with the rain smashing on glass and old men.
From dark valleys and misty hills visitors flock to the sea spending a weeks money on hats, drinks and girls.
With final cries you leave behind debris that play in the wind and settle in dusty doorways.
In alleys lovers bid farewell and young children hide.
An 11.59 Publication
