The man in front of me keeps sneezing and wiping his germs on the back of the seat in front of him. I keep my hands to myself. I levitate off the seat, just in case I catch anything. I'll levitate the fuck off the bus later, too, just to be fucking sure. The 82 is riddled like an auld rat.
Piss-ant sits in the disabled seat, facing the rest of the bus, like a burnt out performer taking to the stage and re-living his glory years of packed out dive bars and high fives and cheers.
EH, DRIVEERRR! CAN YER GIVE US A SHOUT WHEN WE'RE NEAR THE 24 HOUR OFFY, LAD?
The driver slows down the bus. What was that lad? 24 hour? Yer mean on Park Road, yeah?
YEEAAH, SOMEWHERE.
He scans the faces in front of him, realising everyone's clocked him in his scruffiest hour. His binge peak.
'OOO WANTS A DRINK? COME'EAD.
He pulls out a Tesco bag with a bottle of wine inside and takes a big gulp.
The germ fest in front of me, shakes his head in dismay, and pissed out of his skull himself slurs: Aaah, lad, put it away lad. Don't be doing that to yourself. Don't be...err...put it away.
He punctuates with belches. The piss-ant gawps at him and spits some wine out all over himself like a try hard punk arriving in London twenty years too fucking late. Get off the fucking stage, lad.
PUT IT AWAY?? NARR LAD. DYER WANT SOME YERSELF, DO YER? he starts punching his own head WELL THEN CRACK ME OPEN. IT'S ALL LIQUID IN 'ERE. he continues bashing his head in AAAALLL LIQUID!! He screams, laughing.
A woman with a Marks&Spencer bag at the front of the bus gets up and moves to sit at the very back. Must think she's the fucking queen.
The piss-ant curls up into the corner of his seat and starts singing to himself. His words stagger listless points of thought which sound like they're rumbling round his liquidated brain like a pinball with no-one pushing the flipper.
THERE MIGHT BE A KEBAB SHOP OPEN. YER. KEBAB. BIT GREASY THOUGH. BOSS THOUGH. FIVER THAT. CHICKEN KEBAB! YIIIRRRSE. GET A CHICKEN KEBAB. he laughs to himself CH-CH-CH-CHICKEN, CHICKEN-LICKEN. LITTLE CHICKEEEE. IN ME BELLIEEE.
Germ fest in front of me staggers up for his stop. He shakes the hand of Piss-ant as he's leaving.
Y'alright lad. You take it easy, yerr? Have a safe one.
YOU TOO LAD. YOU TOO.
He get's off the bus and cracks open a can of Super Tenants. Fuckin hell, everyones on it. This is how the World ends. Friday night on the fucking 82 bus.
Eee'yarr lad. The offy's coming up.
MEGGAAA! TA DRIVER.
Piss-ant quivers up from his seat - a walking turd - and stands by the door. He spots the offy - it's nearly midnight and it's got a bigger queue than was spotted on the same street not too long ago for voting.
THERE IT IS! OFFY!!
The bus drives a little while further to get to the bus stop, piss-ant panics.
WHERE YER FUCKIN GOIN, LAD? LET ME OUT!! YER GOIN MIIIILLES OFF! FUCKSAKES.
The driver stops and piss-ant jumps off and starts running like a kid spotting an ice cream van after school.
The bus is silent and still, and all I can smell is the booze on my own breath.
2 comments:
hip.
Great story.
My favourite memory of the 82 night bus is of a guy in front of me puking his guts up while his girlfriend battered him shouting 'Stop it! Stop it!' and then some other guy shouting 'Arrr ey mate! You could feed a family of 5 for a week on that!'
Those were the days, doesn't sound like it's changed much.
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