Come Together: Chapter 4:
Chapter 4. Who Really Sells Themselves Here?
My head raced like a nut job snorting his first line, sweat fled from my trembling body, I felt more violated than Bobby! A bit of sunlight poked through a cloud and nosed at me, adding heat to my turmoil, why the fuck did he show me that? I kept asking myself, kept picturing that long thing sliding in and out of him, each circuit of it goring an icicle through my spine. The sun's warmth was purely for gloating, observing my shock and horror, the most I had felt in years, before slinking back behind surly grey clouds and denying the Dole scroungers it's fecund abundance.
I'd found my way to a bus stop, the hard seat was a little resentful of my presence, the entire world fucking was! A car buzzed obnoxiously at traffic lights, stereo pumping out my sentiments with callous fervour: "there is nothing pure in this world," it warbled nonchalantly. "There is nothing fair in this world," I mumbled, accessory to the murder of my own liberty. Lethargic wind coated me off, whispering out spiteful notions of my worthlessness. Until it solidified and dared to poke me.
I leaped up, batting away the gnat of my troubles that had suddenly gone into a plague of locusts. There is nothing safe in this world. My heart thumped against my ribs like a gang of hooligans giving my innards a kicking, I pleaded for the nerves not to return. My erratic panic flailed uselessly against the tramp backing away from me. The miseries of life was rubbed into him, veined into the dirt accumulated by his years in the gutter. "FUCK OFF!" I screamed at him. The vagrant flinched, I knew him and he wasn't used to such hatred from me. His pink eyes, watery from desperation, drugs and hunger, widened. The rancid beard reduced the shaken tremor of his lips, "easy, mate... " he shrieked when I seized his jacket, the polyester defeated by so many layers of filth I weren't sure the fabric was there anymore.
"PLEASE MATE! DON'T!" He wailed. I realised suddenly what I was doing to the wretch as he squirmed in my grip, my own reason lurking in the disgusted gazes of the public too willing judge, though even more reluctant to intervene... just like any logic or good fortune is willing to do to me. It was pointless taking fury and cold fear out onto this man who was even further into the capitalist slag heap than I was. I lazily released him and sunk back onto the bus stop, clutching my head.
Fuck knows how much time was squandered on my personal misery, my purgatory of no choice and destitution, where is the fucking restitution? My thoughts were dampened by the shadow that fell over me, my eyes watched it's hesitation and ice cold fire plumed through my guts. "Keep away from me, or the next thing inside you will be a fucking knife!" I growled. The shadow lingered, on a scale with the physical meat of his body, meat he'd just so cheaply flogged! "Just, hear me out mate. It was easier to show you rather than tell you!" Rage ran through that furnace like a rake and I dived at Bobby, which he avoided easily. "Hunger and being pissed, your reactions are slowing down already," his lean, handsome face observed. I glared at him for a few minutes, all I could see was the way he debased himself, all the gaudy, lovely trakkies he adorned himself in, were lines of defence against the level he had sunk to.
"Do you expect me to take advice on how to carry on from a whore like you?" I snapped at him, a screeching bus smothered my words and conspired to conceal his dignity. After the bus shuddered off, carrying it's impoverished load, Bobby stared for a while, then shrugged. "Who's more of a whore? Me, or you?" I was so clogged with the smoke, it was hardening into cotton wool, leaving me immobile. The only thing available to me was to huddle back to the bus seat and resume crash position.
Eventually I felt him sit beside me. He didn't say much for a while, just watched the people rush by, all of them had nowhere particular to get to, and fast. "Look at everyone running about, slaves to the wage and the regime," Bobby's sigh breathed shame into me, his words striking a chord amid my dozing anger. "Scurrying around as though the motion itself gives them meaning, bestows purpose and makes them all healthy cogs in a machine. But each and every one of them are whores. Who is the client, you ask? Capitalism. It bends you over from the moment you get a National Insurance Number and has it's wicked way with you until you've grown decrepit with age. Then, a new crop comes along and you are on the scrap heap, watching the whole depraved scene over again. Knowing, feeling in your gut, that the system is broken and you're the cripple. We're sick, we're the masochists who delight in having this thrown in our faces every day. Even though we have the numbers to change things, even though there is more to the world than cash... we're all of us whores, I'm just more up front about it, bruv."
His final word struck me like a whip across my muted brain. "Why men?" I croaked. Another pause from the prurient philosopher, before he answered, "they pay for it. All men are dogs when it comes to sex, but gay men... they're rabid!" I glanced over at Bobby, his face glowed red with the predicament life had got him into. He was painting red the black of cruel fate. I shook my head and rose, "keep your men, I'll keep my dignity." His final words tore through me as a cannonball devoured a sail. "What you saw me doing earlier earned me more cash than an entire month's Dole cheque... think about that." All I could envisage as I walked away was his integrity's destruction, are you any better? A demon teased. It was time to get pissed... it's a nice day to, start again.
© Brad James, 2014.