Junkie Jacket
by Andrew Velzian
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Short-changed on the bus.
_____________________________________________________________________
I awoke just as the 86 was turning onto Pennywell Road. Bugger, I thought. Two stops earlier and it was a five minute stroll to my digs, now it was a fifteen minute stagger.
“Liking yir jacket, pal,” some idiot slavers in my direction.
“Eh?”
“Nice toap.”
“Aye, that’s why I bought it.”
“Fancy sellin it?” he asks while sliding across the back seat like a rash.
Alarm bells in my head fight for space between the beer and the oncoming hangover. I can do without this shite.
“No, really, no.” Then I remember how old the thing is and ask for how much.
His bug-eyed bird leans over the seat in front so I can see her saggy bra-less breasts and declares, “Twenty Valium!”
Looking at the scraggy git next to me, I see the goose bumps erupting around the track marks. Thinking I wasn’t being robbed after all, I make sure by asking if I could take my C.D. player out the pocket.
“Oh aye. Deal then?” Fuckin right, I think, and nod. “Sound,” he breathes at me.
I stay on past the stop they got off at just to get a bit of distance and control of my breathing. After all, I had my music and twenty paracetamols to be getting on with.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Short-changed on the bus.
_____________________________________________________________________
I awoke just as the 86 was turning onto Pennywell Road. Bugger, I thought. Two stops earlier and it was a five minute stroll to my digs, now it was a fifteen minute stagger.
“Liking yir jacket, pal,” some idiot slavers in my direction.
“Eh?”
“Nice toap.”
“Aye, that’s why I bought it.”
“Fancy sellin it?” he asks while sliding across the back seat like a rash.
Alarm bells in my head fight for space between the beer and the oncoming hangover. I can do without this shite.
“No, really, no.” Then I remember how old the thing is and ask for how much.
His bug-eyed bird leans over the seat in front so I can see her saggy bra-less breasts and declares, “Twenty Valium!”
Looking at the scraggy git next to me, I see the goose bumps erupting around the track marks. Thinking I wasn’t being robbed after all, I make sure by asking if I could take my C.D. player out the pocket.
“Oh aye. Deal then?” Fuckin right, I think, and nod. “Sound,” he breathes at me.
I stay on past the stop they got off at just to get a bit of distance and control of my breathing. After all, I had my music and twenty paracetamols to be getting on with.
About the Author
Born in Dunfermline, raised on the Orkney Isles and now residing in Cheshire, Andrew Velzian says he scribbles a few stories in between working and sleeping.