The Tangerine Sock

I rolled into the room 15 minutes late and got a frosty look off the Eastern European woman who was leading the class. My coat came off noisy and my bag unzipped slowly so it sounded like a long creaky trump. Having consumed a Crunchie bar and then a packet of extra hot Monster Munch on the way in, my mouth tasted a bit grim. The crunchie would have been fine and the chocolate tasted good, in Europe they have chocolate for breakfast all the time. The crisps however left a sordid taste on my chops-it had been a bad move to scoff the corn snacks because now my mouth and fingers smelt of the spicy flavouring. I could detect the residue left on my fingertips every time I covered my mouth with my hands to stop the tangy aroma from escaping into the room and revealing my secret breakfast. Scared to look I could imagine the orangey stains on my mits from the caustic chemical zest. I looked like a rollie smoker with a tobacco stained index finger. I guiltily sat a seat away from my nearest fellow scholar.
Sat in my lesson the Monster Munch is going stale in my mouth, it tastes awful-oh for a sip of something cleansing. I hope we don’t have to do any group discussion or else I’ll have to explain the confectionary stench about my person. My nose passage is all dry and it’s not very pleasant to breath through it, but of course I can’t breathe through my mouth. That would be like pumping some kind of awful bellows.

My head feels still scrambled from sleep and although the walk up the hill woke me, I’m left with the remnants of my dreams. Just a few bits and bobs floating around that I can’t put my finger on, there isn’t any context to any of them, just a vague picture. Loading a machine gun I can remember the bullets, in some kind of bungalow I think I’m filming porn. Most clear is a big tall building under construction with a massive white ocean liner on top of it, it is improbably placed but I don’t mind. The ship is resting on two parallel rails like train tracks but with a slight curve to them like a rocking horse. The ship starts to slowly skate left to right on these rails which do not extend very far either end of the boat. The immense craft builds up momentum and all the while I’m quite understanding about the whole thing as a viable aspect of the construction process. But then inevitably the ship flies off the end of the rails and crashes to the bottom of the building, it knocks the half finished skyscraper to the ground, this in turn knocks into the Eiffel Tower standing next to it which too snaps in half. It all lands on top of a primary school and I run over with a first aid box but everyone’s ok. Thank goodness for that but I’m still sat in my class. That’s just a little picture afloat in my crusty head. It’s really not a pleasant experience listening to this woman go on about something I don’t understand while these little snippets of dreams are still trying to hold my attention. Last week I sat in this class in such an unfortunate spot as to be able to see the teacher’s tit when she leaned forward to make a remark (she was perched rather jauntily on a table corner), it looked like a tangerine in a beige sock.

Stoop Talk.

Some clusty thoughts from my disgusting front garden in Hyde Park, Leeds, where I used to live.

One day I was just walking down the road in town and this woman was going down the main street screaming, ‘How can you live like this? How can you smile and be happy with people like this?’

Then a little midget black guy walks past and tells her to shut the fuck up.

The dealer across the road always has plenty of business on sunny days like these. Sometimes you get people pulling up in taxis or their own cars and shouting or whistling to get some customer service-it’s not often that he actually does pop his shrunken little baby head out though. He’s got a few mates with similarly stupid shaped heads that do the leg work for him. You see a lot of beefs between these fellas from my front step.
There is a girl who lives there with her kid and a fat bitch Staffordshire bull terrier with massive tits (the terrier's tits that is). Well I say lives there but she often packs the car up with stuff and does one because of the behaviour of baby head. Just the other day one of these Bonobos threw the kid’s tricycle at his mate’s car-the guy that threw it doesn’t even live there. You generally just have to put up with these cunts, fighting or shouting on the blower, wandering about the street with their hands plunged down their pants. Sometimes one of them has ventured over to try and give us his number for Dids and Cheng and that. He never comes through though and to be honest I think these amateurs strictly hold crap whizz.

This man walks past in the mid afternoon everyday, he looks a bit worse for wear mentally and has always got a pram full of dirty old rags with him. He's desperate to say hello. Normally if I’m out on the stoop I’ll wave at him but today I didn’t. He knew though and even when he was way past and I though it was safe he still clocked me. The second I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye, there he was-‘Hello, hello!’ ‘Alright mate’ I offered. ‘Hello how’s it going?’ Sound I say turning away, not being mean but you don’t want him coming over with his bounteous load do you? Although I don’t know, maybe all he needs is someone to ask him-What the fuck do you keep collecting these nappies and shit for?
Then he might get things on the straight and narrow, take the kids to Legoland an that.

A gaggle of horse faced footie toffs bob past, a cacophony of bollocks on the wind, the last thing heard as the foul storm passes? ‘It’s your birthday you cunt.’
Now I’m sure individuals more pious than myself have bemoaned these idiots over the years, but there is something new to these specimens. A whirling nuclear tempest of self worth spins in each one, a golden pride has been bestowed by erect greasy parents.
This breed worry me.