I’m the only punk in the room holding a bottle of American beer…
[yeah, I know it’s piss water]
I stand against a multicolored spray-painted graffiti wall
by the slam floor,
Paul stands beside me, a glass of ale in his hand
His green mohawk hair-sprayed high into the air –
Spikes as sharp as knitting needles
“The band fuckin’ sucks tonight”, Paul tells me between swigs of suds
“Yeah,”, I reply, “the bassist is on day 5” –
then I lift a finger to my nose and mockingly inhale with one nostril…
“or, so I heard”
“Fucking, hell – it’s fuckin’ pants, mate” Paul says,
as he reaches for his lighter - cig already in his mouth
“An’ I leave my flat for this shite…” –
I shake my head to agree
“Knees up, mate” – Paul states, after punching me in the shoulder -
he looks expectantly towards the front door –
“It’s Polly innit?”
“Yeah”, I reply as my buzz increases and I feel a bit pissed –
“She’s lookin’ proper fit, eh?” Paul observes…
“Another Bud”, I tell the bartender
“I don’t know how you drink that yank shite”, he tells me
I pull on my braces and snap them back as if it were a reply
“Ta”
“You brought the American… chuffed,” Polly sarcastically observes -
as she looks me up and down with disapproval –
Her nails match her glow-in-the-dark pink hair –
there is golden glitter on her face and silver glitter on her eyelids -
“All right, Polly”, I respond…
Paul grins from ear to ear
I’m out on the slam floor as Paul and Polly get a pint…
I remove my shirt (and tuck it into the back waist of my trousers) –
and my anarchist sweat mingles with the sweat of others –
…testosterone fills the air like oxygen, it’s masculine air…
I push – and I push hard – it’s violent and I’m in my element –
A guy with a bloody nose slams into me – and I fall hard onto the ground…
A hand reaches towards me – and he pulls me up…
“Another Bud in a bottle”, I tell the bartender –
and he snickers at me like I’m American scum –
He simply shakes his head in disapproval, smiles, and pops off the bottle top –
“Cheers”, he says –
“Cheers”, I reply
“It’s still hard, ya know?”, Paul tells me between drags on his cig
He looks at something in the distance of the room I cannot see…
“Yeah, it’s been awhile”, I reply -
“Congrats on 6 months, mate”, I say
“Ta”, Paul replies as he exhales smoke like he is exhaling an unpleasant memory
Polly asks me if I want to dance (slam) and I accept her offer (hesitantly)…
I think she wants to fuck my American ass up
“maybe you’re not so bad”, she tells me quickly
before she slams me into a table
“perhaps your hair is naturally pink”, I reply –
and it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile –
and I know it’s genuine and not cruel or condescending in any way
“what are you drinking?”, I ask her
“British 75”, she replies –
“whatever the fuck that is”, I say as I tip the bartender a fiver…
The three of us are in the back of Paul’s small truck bed –
It’s open – stars twinkling above – we’re drunk as fuck –
“You know, you’re my best mate”, says Paul, smoking his 100th cig for the night
“Cheers, mate”, I say as I tilt my American piss-water beer towards his glass
“Cheers”, says Polly – and I see her smile again
“Cheers”, I say –
and the three of us bask in this glorious moment…
Enjoying the company of others…
Paul – he’s out tonight
(I wouldn’t have predicted he’d still be alive)
he’s been clean – 6 months tonight…
he’s a glue-sniffing survivor…
and I’m really proud of ‘im
Photo: Jimmy Broccoli with Caesar, the Therapy Bunny Rabbit.
