Status Updates From Nineteen Seventy Seven (Red...

‘—married five years—had one son—and wanted another. But what I got was the fuck of my life in the back of an unmarked police car—And that night I went home—And I turn over the Evening Post and there he is, one step ahead, waiting for us—’

‘Look at you—with your hat on your cock—bag of secrets—cross and—prayers—blessing the fucking—turning the tea into wine. It’s me—I was there, remember? The night you fucked up.’

‘Out of the window—clouds coming—turning the afternoon grey—spreading a sudden sort of quiet—I stare at the cars and lorries on either side of us—the Moors beyond—Ellis is nodding along like, this is the fucking fast lane. Me, I feel sick—Trains pass—lights another cig and says, ‘Lunch?’—Staring into dark pints, thinking worse thoughts, fucked if there’s anything I can do about it—Ellis raises his glass. ‘Cheers’’

‘Out of the window—clouds coming—turning the afternoon grey—spreading a sudden sort of quiet—I stare—cars and lorries on either side of us—the Moors beyond—Ellis is nodding along like, this is the fucking fast lane. Me, I feel sick—Trains pass—dogs bark—lights another cig and says, ‘Lunch?’—Staring into dark pints, thinking worse thoughts, fucked if there’s anything I can do about it—Ellis raises his glass. ‘Cheers’’

‘Sunday morning—windows open—going to be another scorcher—red postbox sweating—dogs barking at a rising sun. Radio on—alive with death—And Ellis smiles—like this is what it’s all about—like this was what he’d signed up for—There’s a bloke in a tracksuit by a tall oak, throwing up—‘Fuck’ says Ellis—sits in the front and switches off the radio—I want to throw on the fucking brakes and punch him but, instead, I smile—’