The Big Chill

It was this morning when I woke up and immediately jumped back into bed as if I was dive bombing away from an on coming vehicle. I wasn’t dodging an out of control Ford Mondeo but instead was responding to the coldness that’s suddenly dawned upon us. At first I thought it was slightly cold and the fact I had been in my warm bed was the reason for my knee-jerk reaction. However after a shower and a change I soon realised that wearing a t-shirt today wasn’t going to be enough, goose pimples were erupting all over. I quickly threw on a jumper had my breakfast and opened the door when a waft fresh morning air hit me making me shiver all over and looking like a break dancer in full body popping flow. I debated whether to put on my winter coat. I was really reluctant too as I felt putting on this coat was a confirmation that winter was really here. Even though I reckon I should of, I didn’t, and froze.

I can’t believe winter is more or less here. It’s been a crap year for weather, utterly abominable. A few sunny days here or there but nothing much else. So now I’ve got to get some gloves because I lose them every time winter ends and also a scarf. I’ve also got to get a new hat too, I’m thinking a bobble style would be pretty cool. But even with all these winter bits I know I’m going to be shuddering from now right until March. To escape the inevitable for only just a little while I thought of the idea that if I was rich I would fly to another country where it was summer while it was winter in the UK and then when winter finished I would fly back and enjoy the summer here in England. Although at this rate I’d probably be spending 11 out of 12 months out of the country. If I was rich of course.

I’ve rattled out some more progressive prose for you to view at your leisure.

*********************************

The last sentence indicated that Conrad wished to speak no more on the subject his eyes glaring at Yannish enticing him to challenge his views so that he could lash out a tirade of other reasons and examples. Yannish noticing the intensity of the stare sucks in his bottom lip as some sort of prevention technique from himself shouting out answers to Conrad’s justifications but as he inhales ready to release he bites the pink part of the lip giving him pain to shake away his thoughts and realise that it’s probably better for him not carry on with the subject or else he could be there for hours. Instead he lets go of his lip takes in another deep breath and slowly breaths out through his nostrils. He looks at Conrad’s stare and notices that the edges of his mouth are curling and his rotting brown teeth are showing again. He knew the thought process Yannish just went through before deciding not to speak anymore on the subject. It was a battle of two wills and in Conrad’s eyes he was the victorious one. Cutting down the sprouting contesting views of a young man before they were even spoken. Peter too was looking at Yannish with his hawkish eyes in his studious pose. Yannish didn’t know why Peter often stared at him like that, always starting off a conversation and then gradually commenting less and less when eventually he becomes nothing more than a silent bystander nodding occasionally or just keeping completely silent. He was glad when Peter’s hair flopped forward and he was forced to break from his stance and flick back his hair so that it wouldn’t cover his eyes.

“Yes, I’ll get it for you, 8 cans right?”
“Good man. We shall see you soon boy.”

“Right, see you soon.”

Yannish started to make his way in between the hedges along a small path created by the grass’s inability to grow round these areas. He often thought how many times had people walked along this way before him until the grass finally conceded defeat and grew around the continuous trampled areas forming the little path that he was using. Were the people garage employees before his time who like him wasn’t able to get to work easily or were they people who just hang out round these parts?

Darkness was slowly dimming the sun’s presence and it was best to get out of the grass path as soon as possible. Meeting supposed homeless men wasn’t really deemed much a threat but it was very easy for someone hide in a bush and jump him from behind. Increasing his speed Yannish soon caught sight where he’d be spending the next 5 hours and sighed as he remembered what all his other peers were up to at this moment. Sliding down through the dry mud he lands at the garage with only his trousers slightly dusty and his collar half turned up, he looks through the window to see Clarence Davidson through the window. Slightly shocked but happy it’s her there he walks in.

“Hey Clarence, how’s it going? Why are you here? Where’s Tammy?

“Hey Yannish, how are you honey? I’m doing fine. Always fine. But a little tired today, you see Tammy called in sick today and so I had to take over the late-afternoon shift as they couldn’t get anyone so now you are stuck with me this evening.”

Yannish liked Clarence. She was a middle age lady who had lived round this area for most of her life. Her round puppy fat face always had a smile or at least a grin and she had a tendency to change her hair colour. Today it was pink. Short, spikey and bright pink.

“You must be shattered. Let me just sort myself out and I’ll start the shift and you can catch a break.”

“Thank you honey, I need a break.”

Yannish walked out back. He much preferred to do a shift with Clarence than Tammy. Looking round in the staff area he saw a small pile of empty energy drinks and ripped open empty instant coffee sachets scattered in the table, probably left by Clarence to keep her awake during such a long shift. Yannish hung his coat and made his way outside.

“Right I’m ready to go, you can go take your break now.”

“I’m shattered but first I want to restock the alcohol shelf because once I sit down I don’t want to get back up.” Said Clarence.

“I can do that. Look if you want to take your break a bit later you can do so and sit by the till while I do it. You’re doing such a long shift tonight you need to reserve as much energy as possible.”

A gentle smile rose across Clarence’s face and the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes became more prominent. She was grateful.

“Thank you so much honey.” And turned away and nestled back down into her seat.

Yannish spun back around and headed towards the stock room. He switched on the light that flickered once before dully illuminating the room. He walked over to the pin board where the replenishment list was, took it down and then started collecting the alcohol he needed. The silence of the room enticed him to reflect on today’s occurrences. He remembered his debate with Keith in the pub. How he hated Keith’s views, his utter contempt for rules, his raw selfishness but deep inside Yannish also knew he was slightly jealous of these and considered them virtues when in the right context. Arguing with Keith about issues in life was a frequent occurrence but convincing him to accept you point was a less frequent one, almost seldom. He now was beginning to think he had lost the argument. Not because of his choice of words or at Keith’s great skills of oratory. It was Keith’s point. It was being lived right now by him. Here he was in a small stock room with a flickering light picking up bottles of whisky when instead he should be drinking it right now at Zaks or some other place with his friends, his comrades of exam stress his peers. He noticed he was clenching the neck of the Jack Daniels very tightly making his palm glow red. To diffuse his growing anger he tried to think of what else had happened. His daily encounter with the feisty Conrad and the observational Peter, how did Conrad always seem to flex his point across but when someone wished to challenge it he would turn his back on the idea. He thought perhaps Conrad and Keith were actually the same people or at the very least related. Tommy, his flat mate was probably at a party somewhere slumped on a couch resting his head on one of his hoodies and resting a joint on his left hand. If he had wasn’t too stone he would be attempting to chat up the nearest female within speaking range. If he considered her pretty he would try and call her to him as there was no way he would be moving from the home he created on the couch, unless of course she was stunningly beautiful and then he would shuffle along to the edge of the couch and lean over towards her. As concessions would be made in these situations. He would then ask her opinion about his blond dread locks under the guise that they were newly formed. This was a lie and he was fully aware that the combination was a rare one which would spark intrigue and questions which then would form the basis of a conversation. Yannish began to smile now as he remembered the amount of times he had been around Tommy and he had used this method to get the attention of girls and how successful he was with it apart from a few, in fact thinking about it, he could only remember one. It was Karen.

Glasses

I finally think my vision has deteriorated to the point I’ll need to wear glasses full time. I’m yet to receive a professional opinion but you know when things in your body aren’t working right. Like when I pulled my groin muscle and was walking round like I had something shoved up my backside.

How do I feel about wearing glasses? Well, that depends. If I can find some frames that suit my face then I think I could cope with wearing them. Perhaps some Clark Kent style black rimmed ones to give me an intelligent yet bumbling fool when in the vicinity of the opposite sex persona. Or some Sven Goran Eriksson style rimless frames which exude stylishness but also come with a huge price tag. Either way things will have to change once I wear them like if I need to run somewhere I’ll have to be mindful of them or they might fall off my beak and get trampled on. Or not forgetting to take them off before I go to bed and could wake up surrounded in my blood because I’d just slashed my eye lids. Or alternatively I could just get contact lenses. The sensible ones I should add not snake eyed ones or pure white ones although they could have their uses.

I shall make an appointment at Boots tomorrow to confirm the state of my eyeballs.


P.S. I’ve decided to change the Blog template. I prefer this one to the old one.

****************************************************

Yannish couldn’t help but sympathise for all three of them. Even though originally he felt they were responsible for all their own doings. He still thought their contempt for government schemes and set ups wasn’t totally justified but then again this is the first time he heard a story of how someone had fallen through all the check points and safety cushions the government had implicated. They tried to help him in hospital to a certain point but when someone with a greater urgency came in he was usurped from his bed like with no cure to his condition. Is this what is happening to people all over the country? You are diagnosed and treated but because there isn’t enough room, there isn’t enough staff, and the staff that are their do not always have equipment capable for the job so patients have to be prioritised, perhaps categorised on paper or on a computer as to whether they are fit enough to walk out of the hospital without dying or at least collapsing in front of the entrance. The people that are ill are treated but not till they are fully recovered opening up opportunities for relapse or infection. The strain put on the staff must be tremendous knowing that quite possibly they are sending someone to despair for the sake of economics. But it can’t be the fault of the medical staff, they entered the profession to help not to be entangled in a pit fight for the pounds being dropped from above. And what about having his dole money cut off because he wasn’t looking for a job. But he wasn’t looking for a job because of he was depressed. Who does this help? Yannish aware that he didn’t have the entire perspective of it all did know that Conrad is an intelligent man and even though he was depressed from what he just said he knew he didn’t want to partake in anything any more and experience his life through his own way.

Yannish felt a new found respect for the three of them, he thought they were the dregs of humanity but perhaps that was because they were all donning clothes that looked unwashed for weeks and personal hygiene that had probably left their thoughts many moons ago.

“You’re story is very deep and it is something for me to mull over but I’m late for work so I need to go. What beer do you want? Said Yannish finally escaping his thoughts and engaging the present, mainly because a Dragon fly stared buzzing around him.

“8 cans of Stella Artois please.” Said Peter in a civilised tone.

“Ok, I’ll bring them back here on my break, if I get one so now I’m late.” And with that Yannish uncrossed his legs and picked himself up letting the leaves fall away from his trousers, nodded at the three of them and headed off to work through the hedges. He couldn’t help but feel that those people he had encountered were probably the most interesting people he’s met in a long time and decided when he went to work tomorrow he’d leave a little earlier and go over and speak with them once more.


The vagabonds as Yannish called them were in their usual place underneath the bridge with a gas lamp hanging on a near by branch, swaying along which ever way the wind decided to choose. If you stared at the lamp too long it invited the precarious feeling of uneasiness, not knowing whether the lamp will swing off crash to the ground and start a fire or if it would just stay there peacefully rocking with the beat of the elements. George seemed asleep as he was curled up in the foetal position, his head tucked down into his chest his body facing away from Peter and Conrad who seemed to be talking to each other quite feverously their hands up in the almost clashing. Peter noticed Yannish approaching and smiled.

“Well boy how did you do in your last exam? Literature wasn’t it?”

“Yeah it was literature. I think I done ok, but I just kept chopping and changing my mind every few minutes until I realised what I wanted to do.”

“Ahh, I see” said Peter scratching his nose. “Caught in two minds were you?”


“Yes I was, it was all about the madness of Hamlet and at first I thought he was mad but then I started to think about his motives and reason behind his actions started to materialise. He killed people which as you know is one of the sickest things you can do but I couldn’t help but want to think what drove him to it, I wanted to discover the catalyst behind each horrendous action and in the end it changed my original opinion. I just hope I put it all down in a coherent manner.”

“Seems you’re starting to think things out before you make your judgement, not a snap decision.” Said Peter.

“Yes. I’m glad you’re starting to ask questions as to why things are what they are. I mean look at us we look like sub human scum but you can sense the vitality of our human spirits exude from these dirty clothes. Well, maybe not George but he’s still young.” Interrupted Conrad who was rubbing the crustations on his top lip and looking towards George who was now wriggling in his foetal position asleep unaware that the lamp was now swaying vigorously above him any moment ready to submit to gravity and fall. Conrad noticing this picks away the last bit of dried skin from his lip and flicks it to the ground, leans over and unhooks the lamp from the branch. He lays in on the floor and picks up two large stones and lays them either side of the lamp so that it cannot fall.

“What have you three been up to today?” Asked Yannish who decided to support himself by leaning on a nearby tree.

“Well.” Said Peter. “ Conrad and I have been asking for money along the lakeside, you see we found out that people from that area are more generous in parting with their cash than those from near the town area. Seems those folk want you to entertain them before they give you coins they dig from their pocket. What kind of people are they?”

“They’re probably thinking the same thing Peter. Why don’t these two people get a job, why beg for money. Why don’t you get a job or at least attempt to get one? Both of you.”

“How on earth is that going to happen? Just as I thought you were starting to realise that you shouldn’t take everything by face value. If I walk into the job centre asking for a job, do you think they’ll want to help a great big fat ginger haired man with a beard that’s been maturing for 6 months now? They won’t even shake my hand when I reveal from my jacket covered in dirt that’s been collected over many weeks. And even if they did help and took down my details and submitted an application form for me and I got an interview. What will I wear to this interview? I’m perfectly happy to wear this but I don’t think the potential employer would.”

“Now are you able to get the usual Stella Artois?”

Wednesday Evening

Nothing much has happened this evening for me to write about. I met with Coldbrain for a few beverages and ended up being half cut. We managed to win £2.10 playing the quiz machine and he assures that he will update his blog more thoroughly soon. Other than that I went back and wrote some more prose. I don’t know what it will read like tomorrow when I read it with a clear head.


*********************************


Yannish looked at the three of them. Conrad looking at him waiting for his reaction, Peter now peering at him through his steamed glasses, Yannish couldn’t help but think he had the mannerisms of a goose, with a long neck on top of his thin coiled body. And there was Peter who looked straight through him like he was staring at something beyond.

“What are you on about?” replied Yannish, finally.

“We are all homeless people, people who have no income people who walk around the streets all day, asking, begging for money to buy stuff. And it’s all our Labours fault.”

“What do you mean it’s their fault? You are here because you’re losers.”

“Losers? Of what game have we lost from? The only game I know of is the race for capital. And we didn’t lose we decided not to partake anymore. We can’t be losers if we never play.”

Yannish realised that Conrad was an articulate man who perhaps should be listened to. It unnerved him a bit. His preconception had dismantled in a matter of sentences. He could feel a slight shame pass over him knowing that he thought they were all pathetic beings with no ability to hold conversation in the slightest but instead were focussed on the best way to alter their state of consciousness.

“Loads of people blame the government for failing. ‘They didn’t help me?’ ‘They took my money away from me’. You’re all the same.” Came Yannish’s reply.

“Look.” Said Peter this time. “Don’t you think we want to be here? We don’t but we have fallen into a dark pit and people have forgotten about us because of it and now we can’t get out with out their help. Conrad here used to have a wife, a job and a car. He used to sell retina scanning machines to companies all over the world. That’s right isn’t it Conrad?

“Yes, that is correct.” Said Conrad looking to the ground as he spoke his lip starting to quiver slightly.

“But while on a trip abroad Conrad’s wife left him for another man. Cleared their joint bank account and contacted the police about domestic abuse suffered by him. After that she hired a solicitor to start proceedings of their divorce. When he got back to his house he saw a letter from his wife explaining that she was no longer going to stand up to his abuse and that she was leaving him. I bet that confused you didn’t it?”

“It did.” Said Conrad. “I had never hit her or even threw anything at her. I was utterly confused. I tried to call her but the phone went straight to answer machine. I called her parents but as soon as they heard my voice they put the phone down I called again but they must of unplugged the phone. Everything was quiet in the house and bare, things had been taken, things I thought were mine. But my thoughts were interrupted when the police called round and asked me to come down the station to discuss this domestic abuse. Within 3 months I had lost my house to my wife, I became depressed and work were not interested in helping me so found an excuse to get rid of me. Never was I charged for abusing my wife and I don’t think that is what she intended. The stigma attached with being associated with domestic abuse was reward enough as my reputation plundered. I wasn’t granted legal aid for a representative in my divorce case and used all my savings to hire a solicitor. I wrote to my MP about the decision about legal aid and received no reply, I squandered all my savings on my solicitor and in the end I received nothing from the divorce, she won it and I had nothing. No wife, no job, no house nothing. I had no where to go so started to bunk up at the YMCA. It’s there when I met Peter.

“This sounds a really sad tale but how has the government let you down, what could they have done to stop your wife from doing what she did?” As soon as Yannish said this he saw the imminent eruption about to come from Conrad. He took a deep breath in preparation of the onslaught.

“That labour government never supported me in my divorce and hasn’t since. I have slipped away from society because of their actions, well lack of them. I used to earn £60,000 a year but when I lost everything I could only claim dole money which is just enough to live on not to build on. I was suffering from depression so wasn’t considered employable and besides in that state I didn’t even want a job I just wanted to fester in my own despair hoping I’d slowly decay away. It was Peter who realised what was happening to me so persuaded me to go to the hospital. They diagnosed me with depression and kept me with them for a few days to run some tests but then I was sharply jolted from there when someone with a higher priority needed my bed. Why cannot there not be enough beds for everyone that is unwell? Why only those with a higher priority? So I decided never to look for a job and so the dole money was cut intermittently. I resorted to stealing and asking for money, I should have been embarrassed but I wasn’t, I felt unshackled. Now that I decided to let be free from trying to play with Labours game of how to live a Labour life I felt I was living.

Yannish looked at him. He stared thinking some answer would pop into his head as to why Conrad never tried to get back to his job, tried to regain that success he once had. But noting materialised.

“ It isn’t just me boy, Peter too lost everything because he was a gambler and George, well George is loves to drink and once that addiction seeps into your system then everything else falls away into insignificance.

When A Colleague Leaves

It’s a bit annoying when a work colleague you get along with leaves work which is what happened to me. Neil, who has moved to pastures new was quite an entertaining chap with his care free attitude that you used to have me in stitches My manager would spend an hour telling him how things work and what the procedures were and I could see on his face that although his body was there his mind checked out a long time ago. However, this wasn’t to say that he some unintelligent being he just realised or was resisting the fact that procedures are generally extremely boring. Instead what brought him to life was comedy. Especially finding radio shows on the Listen Again function the BBC has. He introduced me to the Mitchell and Webb and also 8 Out Of 10 Cat’s radio shows which I salute him for. He was also a massive fan of Dilbert who I had never heard of until I met him. He thought I was a sheltered boy but when he showed me some Dilbert strips I thought they was rubbish and instead found it more amusing calling him Dilbert for a bit. But this place of work wasn’t really for him and claimed he found something else in Coventry in a publishing house. I reckon he’s just sitting at home waiting for his dole check to come through. Unfortunately for me they aren’t replacing him straight away so I’m having to do some extra work, we don’t even get a temp which I was hoping as the temp conveyor belt brings in some interesting characters. There was one temp who I worked with who resembled Richmond from the IT Crowd. He dressed in black, had long black hair and rarely spoke and when he did he sounded like Will Self, deep, slow and rather convoluted. It was hard to get a conversation out of him but when you did because of the pace he set about divulging his story I was able to work out what he was going to say next and try to beat him to it to move the tale on. He was a really nice guy and again another who either realised or refused to conform to procedures easily and one day went for lunch and never returned.

When I got back from work I decided to write out some more prose as I needed to empty my head of stuff, so here it is.

************************************************

The BP garage where Yannish worked was exactly was no different to the ones you pass on the motor way or stop for petrol. His one was actually just on the motorway and getting to it was a bit of a nightmare. As he didn’t drive he couldn’t go the most straightforward route and instead had to take a convoluted way he managed to gauge out for himself after many experimental walks. Getting quite close to the garage was easy as there was a path that ran all along above it but to get down it you had to walk down a steep slope of bushes and hedges, underneath a bridge where a gathering of vagabonds usually congregated drinking beer or injecting themselves with what ever mind altering fluid they could get hold of. On more than one occasion Yannish was heckled by them as he walked past with the occasional half eaten Jaffa Cake or crisp packet with an orange in it would hit the back of his head. Cackles of laughter could be heard from behind him as he would rub his head rather forlornly at where he’d been hit. He wanted to go over there and smack them but them being all outside the society circle he wondered what they would do to him should he swing and miss and find him self tumbling to the floor looking up at them. He thought it best to just ignore them. One day, he walked past them ignoring them when one of them called out his name.

“Yannish.”

Yannish, carried on walking ignoring the sound he thought was his name.

“Yannish, Oi Yannish, come over here.”
The gruffly sounding voice definitely said his name.

“What do you want?” replied Yannish turning round. He could see the three of them sitting but leaning against the slope of the bridge. The one who called out was in the middle. He had a thick beard that terrorised the bottom half of his face with its wild strands. And where the strands ended on the bottom half of his face his long greasy ginger hair would touch and entwine with them from above forming some sort of barrier all around him. His face looked hard with wrinkles visible on his forehead encrusted with the white colour of dryness or cold. His small but focused eyes stared intently at Yannish and relaxed a little when Yannish met his stare and exposed his brown tarnished teeth. Yannish took this as an attempt to smile at him. The other two men were sitting either side of him their bodies slightly turned towards him to almost form a semi circle. The man on the right had long straight but also greasy brown hair. He had glasses with lenses that seemed to be steamed up and was perched at the end of his nose. He too was staring at Yannish but not through the glasses but with his own eyes. He had an inquisitive look about him. The last person on the left was younger looking than the other two men, maybe a couple of years older than Yannish. His head was quite melon shaped but that was mostly down to the skin head hair cut he had. He had sad looking face and was staring at the fire in front of the three.

“We need a favour, come here…please?” spoke the large ginger man.

“How do you know my name?”

“Look, we know Tommy. He sometimes comes to see us for favours and one day we got talking, well yesterday, and he told us about you. We didn’t know it was you at first but as soon as we realised it was the guy we throw food at. Well, in a way I was a bit embarrassed. We won’t throw food at you anymore and in fact as you’re a friend of Tommy’s you must be of good character.”

“I never knew Tommy comes down here. Why don’t you ask him to help you I’ve got to go to work? And Besides why should I do a favour for people that throw stuff at me and scare me shitless every time I walk past them.”

“As I mentioned before we won’t be throwing things at you any longer. It was George who did it anyway but we all apologise.” The ginger man coiled his fingers to point at the younger guy who was still staring at the fire like a boy day dreaming his life through school. Tommy never comes down here, he doesn’t know we reside in these parts. And we would appreciate it if you didn’t tell him as well.

Yannish thinking that they were entrusting him with a secret decided to trust them slightly in return and made a few steps towards their direction. “What do you want?”

“We only want you to buy us beer from your garage and bring it to us.”
“Why can’t you buy it yourselves?”

“Please Yannish come sit with us, I don’t like asking favours without you getting to know who is asking them.”

Yannish made his way over to them.

“I’m Conrad” said the ginger man. “And this is Peter” indicating to the man with the glasses.

“Hello, Yannish. Nice to see you again.” Said Peter.

“And this young man is George.” Said Conrad.

“Umm, yeah hi. So when are you going to get us some beer?” rasped George.

“Quiet! You can’t expect him to do things at the click of your fingers. Not your fingers for sure, have you been trying to scoop things out of the public toilet again?” Retorted Conrad looking disdainfully at George.

Having heard Conrad’s comment Yannish glanced at George’s dirty mud covered hands. He was wearing fingerless gloves with the seams spiralling everywhere. Month old dirt must have been entrenched in those long fingernails. George saw Yannish looking and quickly retracted his hands from view and coiled slightly signalling his embarrassment.

“George, before we set Yannish off he is probably wondering who we are and where we come from. So let’s enlighten him a little. We are Blair’s rejects.”

Return Of The Mack

Well not quite, but it’s been over a month since I last wrote on here so thought I should get back into the groove again. During my month’s absence I enrolled onto a Spanish course only for it to be cancelled because of lack of interest which was annoying as I was looking forward to it. I’ve also started to get into Heros on BBC 2. The BBC had been aggressively marketing this programme which put me off it because they were using all mediums to make sure I tuned in. I’d be in bed nodding off to 5Live when all of a sudden some deep sounding voiceover guy tells me Heros is coming to the BBC and I quickly wake up because I think it’s someone trying to talk to me. But I did watch it one week and was totally intrigued with it all. Particularly how all the storylines are fragmented but united with what I presume will be the big main one story. Hiro Nakamura is my favourite character, I dig his jovial comical approach to his super power. I wish he was my friend.

I’ve also been reading quite a few books. I read Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullaby which was quite a short read about a lullaby when sung will kill the person who hears it and also the degeneration of the people who try to find the source of the song. I read the Master and the Margarita by Mikhil Bulgakov which is about the devil visiting Moscow for some entertainment. And I’ve just finished The Story of O which is an erotic story based on S&M experiences of a woman. When I walked into Waterstones to buy it I laid it on the counter and the guy picked it up and saw what it was and went beetroot and quickly dealt with the transaction in a manner as if I was some freak of nature. When looking at the state of his personal hygiene I think it was he who was the freak. But now I’m at a lost of what to read next. Does anyone have any suggestions on what I should read next?

I have managed to knock out some more prose for people to read (Coldbrain). It was actually quite hard to write a continuation on the back of something I haven’t looked at in a month but here it is.

*************************************

After draining three pints each, Yannish has to make his leave. He’s reluctant to do it as more and more people he knows pile in like weary travellers in need of a beer to quench their thirst, or even a shot of something to warm up the insides and reinvigorate them selves for the forth coming night’s activities. Glasses slamming hard against the wooden surface and being clashed against one another makes Keith’s point all the more poignant to Yannish and he even thinks of perhaps skipping today’s shift, maybe call in sick, that at least would be more of an effort than what Keith would have made. But the thought of getting sacked scares him a little, it was the sheer embarrassment of the situation, he couldn’t tell people he got sacked, he’d feel ashamed but at the same time why should he really care, this is a developed country he lived in, if he got sacked he could just get another job at a supermarket, in a warehouse it didn’t really matter.

“Told you, you shouldn’t go to work this place will be buzzing in about an hour and you’ll be busy working for the man.”

“Fuck you.” The slight temptation of calling in sick vanishes as quickly as it appeared and there was no way Yannish was going to let Keith think he’d converted him.

“Don’t get stroppy, I’m just letting you know what you’ll be missing.”

“I know, I just, Look I do need to go to work now, when I finish I’ll text you to see what’s going on.”

“I reckon we’ll be going to Zaks later on. I’ll keep my phone on but if I can’t get reception it ain’t my fault you don’t get a reply. Besides I also could be busy hitting skins with a chick” And as Keith speaks these words he gazes up to Karen and Liz who were approaching them. Yannish swallows.

“Look, I gotta go now.” He turns the other way patting Keith on the back and on his way through the back entrance, his bag swinging off his right arm.

Out side the air is clear but noise of rowdy students could be heard from everywhere in the vicinity of the Craufield Arms. The bubble of examination anxiety had well and truly been burst and out had seeped hedonistic 18 or 19 year olds looking to turn their anxiety into alcohol fuelled exuberance. All except Yannish.

He turns the key in his door and enters. Tommy must of gone out but not with out leaving a pizza box for Yannish to step on to as he walks towards the lounge. The cracking of the cardboard can be heard as his weight pushes down on but it’s followed by a squelch and runny cheese and tomato run across the sides of his shoes and also up them. Bending down to look at his shoe he tries to pick out the cheese that seems to have entangled itself with his laces but after a few attempts he gives up and flicks his foot sharply forward and watches his shoe fly off his foot down into the hall way into the coats and out of his eye sight.

His mobile buzzes. “Where are you? Karen x”

He puts his phone down and heads towards the couch moving some of Tommy’s quilts out of the way to make space for him to sit. He doesn’t bother with the lights but thinks about the message and also about Keith trying to convince him to come out.

“There’s no way I’m going out so I can see Keith gloat on how he convinced me to come out”

His mind starts to wander a little bit while he’s in the darkness. Concepts and ideas start to form about what’s going to happen. If he goes out Keith will make sure he knows that it was him that won on their verbal joust. Yannish doesn’t want to swallow his pride but on the other side of the coin if he doesn’t go out Keith will move on Karen and that would hurt.

“I need to go work, I need the money but not till I finish this off.”

He reaches over to the ash tray and picks out Tommy’s half extinguished joint, flops it in his mouth and definitely decides to go to work now. He’ll take the risk over Keith and Karen and besides if it happens there’s nothing he can do about it and he’s got no right anyway. Sitting in the darkness with only the glow of the burn from his joint to keep him company he finally settles with his decision.