Gunge funk
Stupid 20six and its photoblogs that screw up every 10 seconds
If it won't let me edit the size and save in the photo blog, it'll just have to go in here. Stupid crappy 20six....
One...
Time keeps ticking, pulsating, like an earth tremor in your head. Every minute accounted for, clocking on, clocking off, legs moving fast. No time to worry or think, just what must be done to get to the next bubble of air.
Danny has no time for that world any more, a conscious decision to opt out of the rat race he’d made back in his late teens. Now he can just sit there stirring his coffee with the wrong end of a butter knife and watching them. This is value brand culture, we've finally reached it, and this is where you find the bottom of the soup. Within a cheap restaurant in the depths of a cheap department store. Look at them even now, the shambles the losers queuing up with their dingy clothes and moronic expressions. I pity them, the scuzz, I mean look at this guy here he thinks, he's got to be at least 40, and still goes shopping with his mum, probably still lives with his mum. Loser.
“and who are you to judge them” says the voice, “these are good decent people, let them be, you on the other hand, you threw it away”. At that Danny embarrassed and betrayed by his thoughts, tries to deflect the accusation by pushing the mug away from him, still though when he raises his gaze his father is sat opposite him. The same steady fixed glare staring back, confident but disappointed that it speaks the truth. Danny held that gaze a while as if pleading it wasn’t his fault.
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At that moment another body joined them, startled Danny looked up to see Clarkie bearing over him. “This seat free is it?” said Clarkie gesturing towards the seat that Danny’s father had been sitting in. Danny was just about to speak when he realised the seat opposite was empty. Clarkie lowering himself into the chair surveyed his surroundings. “This is grubby little hole isn’t it, why did you want to meet here? “, with a shrug Danny replied, “Dunno, I like it”.
“You alright mate? You sound a bit flat, you want to drink some more of this” said Clarkie picking up the half full coffee cup and giving it a swirl. “I’m okay, I was just thinking about my dad, that’s all,” said Danny. Clarkie seemed to derive some kind of amusement from this; stretching out in the bucket seats he let out a half laugh. “What you worrying about that old tosser for? He was boring, he never did anything, never went anywhere, the most exciting thing he ever did was die”.
Something inside Danny’s head clicked, an instant look of pain spread across his face, hands gripping the table, knuckles white, as if they were about to rip the table up from where it was bolted to the floor. Summoning that venom Danny thrust his face across the table and half grunt half snarled at Clarkie, “Shut your face!”
While the anger and hurt seemed real and tangible as if it was something solid to Danny, and while the attack had been meant to be vicious, Clarkie was a man of more years and more experience. He was quick and of ease to counter with just as much venom. Grabbing the same knife Danny had just stirred his coffee with; Clarkie forced the sharp end towards Danny’s face “Don’t you try that with me you little shit, I own you! You remember that. Your dad was an idiot that gave his son one too many chances; if he hadn’t poked his nose into business that didn’t concern him he’d still be alive. You remember that” slumping back into his seat Clarkie became wide eyed and pointed a finger at Danny to say again, “I own you”.
Danny knew it in his heart, no matter what he did, no matter where he went Clarkie was a fully-fledged Psycho that would hunt him down. The man enjoyed pulling the arms off people as a pre-breakfast warm up. “No way out now” Danny told himself, “just got to keep low, stay under the radar.”
Clarkie satisfied that he’d made his point allowed himself a grin, before placing a briefcase on the table. “I’ve got a little errand I need you to run for me,” he said tapping his hand gently on the briefcase. “I need you to take this up to London for me this afternoon, I’ve got a very special client that’s keen to get their hands on it” Danny only half listening had taken to clasping the mug in his hands, taking extra care not to make eye contact with Clarkie. The happy dream came to an abrupt end as Clarkie landed one of his large hands up against Danny’s temple. “Your not listening are you”, barked Clarkie, “This is very important, I don’t like letting my clients down, so you’re going to take extra care of this one.” Clarkie keen to make sure he’d got his point across fixed Danny in his gaze, “Let me make it clear you don’t show up with the goods by 7 or you’re late, and I’ll have your legs, are we clear about that you little weasel”.
Danny wasn’t sure how, maybe it came along with the psycho badge, but when he wanted to Clarkie could stare at you with those eyes for what felt like an eternity without blinking. Danny knew he was serious, part of him wanted to turn and start running now, but still those eyes carried on burning a hole deep into the back of his skull. Taking the briefcase in his hand, Danny gave a slight, almost limp nod to show he understood what needed to be done.
“Good lad” said Clarkie sliding a piece of paper across the table, “That’s the address, don’t lose it now will you” The transaction completed Clarkie seemed even more happy with himself, a weight had been passed from one set of shoulders to another. Drawing his compose and sitting up straight Clarkie returned to look at Danny, “well then? Push off” He said.
Danny’s slow and slightly shaken legs slid out from the table as he straightened and started to make for the nearest exit got to get a way. As he brushed past Clarkie he felt a tight squeeze on his arm. Looking down he saw a hand. Following the hand up an arm and across a shoulder he was met with Clarkie’s smiling face. “tell you what, while your out don’t suppose you could put a bet on a horse for me could you?” He asked, “oh yeah, sorry mate, I forgot you barred for every bookies in the south of England aren’t ya” Clarkie allowed himself a chuckle before pulling Danny close, “now get lost”.
Danny’s feet are moving faster now, not looking back only forward. Behind him he can hear Clarkie sharing a joke with the kitchen hand, something about not being able to get the staff these days. “Don’t worry about that now,” Danny tells himself, only forward, out into the cool fresh air of the high street where he’ll once again be able to breathe…
