Page 47 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #2

Baron in Cabra for a write-off of a few quid
or other. He could even imagine the scraw-
ny famine families dressed in linen sacks car-
rying malnourished mites onto ships here.
He imagined Gina and yer man up on deck
staring down with grotto faces knowing they’d
never be back again but being sure they’d “I need a hundred now before we go further,” he starve to death on the way. He’d like to send told him. “The clock’s been off over an hour.” He her back to screaming famine and shove a pile drove slowly, snakily out, ignoring the fact that of typhus down her gullet for good measure. the gobshite was crying. “Junkies don’t cry,” he Not in a millon fucking years did he think she’d thought. “They wouldn’t know what it meant”. put out for anyone other than him. That had
been the Majorca promise. Nothing but the egg smell of sewer and seaweed sea had stayed the same since those rotten times back then. There was even an apartment block now in the shape of a cruise liner for those twats that worked in Google and the likes. At night you could see the neon fish swimming up their walls as far out as Howth.
She’d be moaning the toss when he got back. Ye forgot this, ye didn’t pick up dat. Where’s me bleedin’ lentils? Didn’t I say no matter wha bring me back de green lentils. He’d be in no mood for an ear-lashing, the night shift only a few shite hours away. “Would ye ever give me a bitta space,” he’d say. “I’m natterbean out all day working, the least you can do is shut that sinkhole of a gob and put the kettle on.” Then he’d smile and tell her
“There’s de purr cunt there!” said Natterbean, she’d a nice ripe arse. pointing to a plonker in a grey duffel coat,
slumped up against a wet wall with black an-
chor chains, arguing with a seagull. “Breezer,
over ‘ere, c’mere, ye fuckin’ queer” He frog- hopped out when the car was still only slow- ing. They wobbled towards each other,
slap slap, mind yerself, where’s me gym bag, take care, no you take care, I’ll take care, but will you take care, let uz know. Stay gizmo’d until he heard of them getting de chop. All of ‘em uns ended up sucking worms before they were thirty.
38