I thought, it’s happening, so why not study it.
What can you feel? I asked myself.
Very little, was the answer – streetlamp, tarmac,
geraniums in a window box – cold… and weary for my
age.
There was no trade – he showed me nothing in
return, left triumphantly.
Later watching Ground Force with my mum, I got
a text from him.
Did I take advantage?
Oh Eeyore! I still don’t know! The thought hadn’t even
crossed my mind. And when I didn’t reply another text
came through.
I had to stoop.
Anyway Ava,
the lock-ins at this pub – they had my brain
wearing that lab coat almost all the time – I didn’t mind.
After closing up, with all the lights switched
off, the bar wiped down, the guys would rack up lines.
The chef, an older Polish guy – who
hated pizza but made the best I’ve ever tried – would
have the drugs, or else he needed to pick up –
and so often this bloke, Ketamine Chris, was there –
he’d turn up, hang around – he was tall, quite buff, with
long eyelashes that if the light was right made him look
film star pretty,
but he moved in this erratic way – an aggressive
clumsiness. His eyes were scary wild.
He was from Johannesburg,
would say – you English babies with your knife
crime, and your milky tea.
He had a tattoo that said TECHNO right across his neck.
His jokes were weird, surreal – they never landed but all
the guys would laugh,
and if the manager was single, or feeling single,
he’d bring his laptop out, and him and a few other men
would scroll an escort site pointing, jostling.
Matthew would say,
that one’s a dog,
request a girl with zero flab
