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  You are @ HomeAdults A day in my life

A day in my life

Source: Adults

Author: Bob Lakin

Title: No Comment 2

Sunday June 11 2006. Ingerland 1 Paraguay 0

0010 hours. Station rank.

Male, mid 20s, football shirt and shorts, talks to driver ahead of me, then walks to my window.

"Mate - I dozed off on the train - I gotta get back to Basingstoke."

"Cash up front" I say.

"Mate - Ive got cash at home, I promise ya mate, it's your livin' I know that. Please mate - I wouln't do ya like that." he says.

"You would." I say.

"Please mate, please. Me missus is there. I promised I'd be in like. No one'll 'elp me."

We drive. Conversation collision debris falls away behind in motorway darkness.

His life: Hod carrier, love brambles,DNA tangles,V.D. Sunday football, tattoo projects, beer, weed, mobile phone porno. Regular guy.

0200 hours. Basingstoke.

"Cunt!" he says, running.

I pull back Lampard at the edge of the box.

He swings, I duck and take it on the top of my head. I catch him with a weak rib shot.

"Stupid old wanker" he says.

Eye contact. Point taken. Lampard runs on to score. You never see a referee when you want one.

0250 hours. Crown Hotel car park.

Local hero by burger van. 18 stones of living psychosis. Shirt off, pumped up, screaming.

"FUCKIN' NIGGERS. FUCKIN' BLACK CUNTS"

I know this guy. I watch him throw a pint glass at a bunch of African student types. They scatter and run into the pub. Door gorillas are edgy, talking dark stubble side-mouth into walkie talkies. CCTV pods swivelling to and fro like bees wings.

"WHO'S COMIN' IN WIV ME TO DO THE FUCKIN' NIGGERS?" shouts the wild man at a group of thin limbed pale faced chavs. They edge away.

I watch a police van in my door mirror. They're crawling. Like me they know this guy. Just out from an 11 stretch for a shooting.

There's cabs pulling off now. Police van still crawling. They know. They know.

Master Race warrior walks calmly to my cab.

"How ya doin' Nobby" I say as I pull away.

"No stranger dared go in there when I was out" he says, smashing jaw breaker punches into the palm of his hand.

"You were the fuckin' man Nobby" I grovel

"That pub was our stronghold - FUCKIN' STRONGHOLD. Now all the daughters are in there, fanny juiced up for fuckin' black dick." he says.

"Yeah" I say, leaving the coduroy and sandals in the wardrobe.

I drive to the house. INGERLAND flag covers lounge window. £6.90 on meter. Nobby thows me a tenner and waves away change. The MAN. THE FUCKIN' MAN.

"You hates them fuckin' niggers don't ya mate" he says.

My murder virgin eyes dodge a visual tackle.

"Yeah, course" I say.

"You're sound mate - fuckin' sound" he says, putting out a huge hand. I place my faux filet into his T bone and feel pain. Nobby grins and gets out.

Soon be light. No cock crowing. Me and St. Peter - at least we have common ground now.

0330 hours. Town rank.

Achingly pretty girl, tanned, cute in white dress pushes a wheelchair up the rank. Passenger is male, 20 years, shaven head, Beckhamesque tattoo on neck. He hauls himself into the front seat. Soft sausage dangle - dead legs do not follow. I lift them in like separate luggage. Amid the beer and kebab belch I catch a slap of urine.

"I'm a fuckin' cripple" he slurs

I stay quiet.

"Fuckin' cripple ain't I?" he accuses.

"Yeah" I say.

"Fuckin' tell 'er will ya" he says.

I look at the girl. She shakes her head.

"Fuckin' leave it Duane" she says.

We take a short ride. I bring the wheelchair to the door and struggle him in.

"Why can't I stay?" says the girl.

"I wanna sleep - I don't want you here." he says.

I sit back in the cab while they play I still love you / I'm a cripple tennis. Cripple service break takes the game to love. Meter curls in a dead ball kick for the me team.

Girl gets back in, crying.

"D'ya fink I should stay wiv'im?" she says.

"Christ! That's a bloody question." I say

"If I was your daughter..." she says

"If you was my daughter I'd want you out of it." I say.

"Just like that?"

"I could dress it up, but that's the daughter answer" I say.

She tells me a story. Stolen car, amphets, crash, 1 dead, 1 broken back.

"Anyway, what does your dad say?" I ask.

"He's always hated Duane." she says.

She pays the fare, leans forward and kisses my temple.

"You're sweet" she says.

0425 hours. Town Rank.

Young woman sways unfocused at my window.

"Can you do the West Estate for 12 quid?" she says

"Nope" I say.

"It's me bay-bay mate. It's still on me tits and the bay-baysitter's fucked off."

This woman is pissed. If the baby sucks her tits it'll be asleep for a week. No corduroy, no sandals OK.

"Please mate. P L E A S E." she continues

"Give us the cash then" I say.

Sometimes I'm almost a fuckin' saint.




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