Part 8 of the Miserable Bastards Series
The streets are bright, feels like walking out into a spotlight. Feels like the volume level has gone up, like I’ve just taken off my headphones. Buses, cars, people, movement, energy.
Fuck, I’m moving to a different beat. I walk over to the wall and watch the river of people floating by. A couple of them give me dirty looks.
Aye, well, fuck you too.
I feel my stomach churning a little. Daylight doesn’t suit me. I stumble round the corner and I’m in the alley, I nearly collide into a dirty van. I get past it just as my nausea reaches fever pitch and I’m sick all over the alley.
Fuuuuuck.
Again.
That whisky could probably be used as a paint-stripper.
I can hear the van; the engine starts up. The horn beeping.
Oh fuck off, I laugh.
I hear a door open, footsteps. Rough hands pick me up and I’m balancing a bit precariously.
Alright, alright pal. Calm down. Don’t you know I have to be wined and dined.
“Junkie scum,” he shouts, his face red, eyes blazing. He stinks of aftershave. Suddenly, I feel the impact of a punch to the stomach and he pushes me onto the bins. I fall flat on my back and I’m spitting out sick.
The footsteps fade and the van rolls past. The exhaust fills my lungs and I cough and splutter.
I just lay there for a moment
Trying to ignore the dull pain in my stomach.
Trying to catch my breath.
I’m laying back against the bins. It smells like death.
Or is that me.
I just sit there. I look down to the end of the alley. The day rolls on regardless. All these people rushing here and there. So much to do.
I stay where I am.
I’m not sure how long for.
What the fuck was his problem. Fucking arsehole. What the fuck is wrong with people. I’m doing you no harm you fucking idiot. Christ.
I rummage in my jean pocket and pull out a miniature. This will stave off the hangover.
I knock it back in one go.
It doesn’t taste great, but not as bad as the no label whisky. What the fuck am I doing. I throw the bottle against the wall and it smashes.
I drag myself to my feet. I feel a bit like Mikey dusting myself down. Leaning against the wall. I try to steady myself. I run a hand through my hair.
What else are you going to do eh, and I’m back out of the alley and onto the street.
I walk on a few steps. Slowly. By the side of the street. Avoiding the first of the crowds.
I need to eat if I’m not dead yet. And the city is my oyster.
This street alone we have got:
Indian food
Mexican food
German Kebab
Turkish Kebab
Fish and Chips
Sushi
Chinese food
Vietnamese food
And more chippies and burger bars than you would ever need. It’s Glasgow’s own food Epcot.
I know just the place.
I’m into Mo’s Kebab and Curry shop. They had the place done up recently. TV screens, LED lights. He’s arguing with his wife who is through the back, cooking the food.
And she can cook. She is a magician. I’m here for it.
Mo is laughing a little.
‘What in the fuck happened to you, Al?’ He is passing me a bottle of water. ‘Here, get that down you.’
I take a sip and the water feels good. I splash a little on my hand and onto my face.
‘Rough day?’
‘Met some angry guy on the street.’
‘Ah fuck man, here you want the usual?’ he asks.
‘Thanks pal, aye please. I’m well set for this.’
He shouts through to Essie out the back with the order and looks back at me.
‘Perfect timing, mate. We’ve been busy the day, this is the first break we’ve had. Here, grab a seat. He comes around the
counter and joins me at the table.’ He passes me a can of juice.
‘You look like you have had a bit of a day, mate.’
‘Here, I’m alright. This place looks amazing, Mo. You’ve done an amazing job.’ I say looking around.
‘Thanks, pal. Aye, I’m well happy with it and it keeps the Missus from moaning my head off, you know? How about you, how is the writing?’
‘Ah, you know, I’m still working on it. I just like, got stuck, you know.’ I mumble a little.
A few customers come in and Mo gets back to work.
Nothing restores like a chicken kebab and yogurt and good company.
There is a knock on the window. I turn round and it’s Ami from the library. She is smiling and waving. A library assistant and a fan of my book, apparently. We’ve bumped into each other a few times before.
She sticks her head through the door.
‘Hi Al,’ she smiles and she comes over and sits with me.
‘Hi Ami, how are you?’ I smile. She’s a real one Ami.
‘Listen, I love your book. You’ve got to get back to writing some more.’
Her hand runs over mine and I feel something stir.
Her big blue eyes are looking deep into mine. Fuck!
Is this redemption, or a fuck, or a redemptive fuck?
She’s telling me about my book, and what it means to her. She read it in a flat near Largs, avoiding the retirees when she worked down at the Ferry. She has read it twice.
Wow.
She asks if I’ll walk her home and of course, I say, yes.
We stand to leave.
Suddenly Essie appears at our table. Apron and hairnet, smile on her round face.
‘Alan, I know you love our pakora. Here, these are for you.’
She passes me a box.
‘Some of my special pakoras. For you’
I stand and we hug. ‘Thanks Essie, you’re a star’
She laughs and hugs me. She looks me in the eye and back at Mo who nods.
‘Thank you both’
Ami is smiling and we go back out onto the street.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 