Day 09

Pila

There are times when even the most hardened dermatologist can hate perfection. I feel like that most days. The layers now curled around my feet stop me thinking about it, and a combination of standing orders and extreme wealth are the worst thing to happen to the conscience since cheap clothes.

Today I wandered off route. My normal path through the city takes me past the grocer's (carateine, protein), the butcher's (iron, protein), the haberdashers (velveteen) and the hardware shop (Mr Sheen). Instead, I lost myself for a good five minutes and caught up with myself at Farlan Street, an area I would never normally venture into without bodyguards and a full artillery. The girls were all there, windng themselves round lampposts, as neat, tight, firm and sexless as pre-packed turkeys. I half-expected the catcalls and kissing sounds as soon as I set foot in their path, but like cats, they held off, sensing something was wrong, or at least that nothing they could say would tempt money from me today.

Their eyes prodded me as I walked past, swaddled and hunched, a faceless gauze ghost meandering through the streets. As I stumbled by, a crack was spat from the sky and the rain hammered down. I rolled my eyes, the only visible part of my face, and as I did, a pinstriped punter, fiddling with his trousers, staggered backwards into me, knocking me flying into an already buxom puddle.

Immediately the girls, now clad in see-through macs, leapt forward. "What you doing, you knob?

"Fuck off, I was just having a slash. Not my fault this one can't look where she's going.
"Well you can fuck off yourself, you rude bastard.
"You weren't saying that ten minutes ago when I told you to ride my cock like a racehorse.
"That's business. This one's not yours to piss about with. Now get bent and don't come back until you've acquired some manners with that big fucking wallet of yours.

Mr Pinstripe, having finally navigated the two sections of his zip together, turned to go and swaggered off, muttering something about "soon as I whip out a fifty, you'll be down on it like you're starving.

The girls turned back to me and pulled me up out of the puddle, shaking the odd fist in a wanking motion and rolling their eyes. The girl who had first spoken up to Mr Pinstripe, an Amazon in chains and suspenders, leaned right into me and as she spoke, her perfume drunkened me with its cheapness.

"Dunno what you're doing here sweetheart, but you're asking for trouble. Two things Benzo hates (and believe me, he'll be back any minute), any girls that aren't his ' you are a girl under there, right? - and religious nutters. By nutters, I mean anyone wearing, doing, or saying anything vaguely religious. He don't like it. Now that bloke was soft as you're likely to come by down here, and even he could have had you. So I suggest, she said, looking sharply around like a robin, "that you go back to wherever you came from.

"It's not a religious thing, I squeaked, looking like a damp washpile. "I'm not religious. I just wear it -
"Right, fine, but anyway, we can't babysit you all night, said the Amazon. "Go home. Go the fuck home and at least get out of this rain.

So I did.

1771.1 Longwave

It's a crazy, drizzly night out there folks. Hope you're driving safely on those slippery roads tonight. Incidentally, as I was driving into the studios today, I saw none other than the legend that is Maren Gilligan buying some early morning doughnuts at Krunchee Kreems. I have a couple of questions for Ms Gilligan:

a) How the hell can you eat Krunchee Kreem doughnuts at 7am? What, have you got a stomach of steel or something?
b) How the hell can you eat Krunchee Kreem doughnuts at all and still get away with a waistline like a fat man's wrist? Don't give me that crap about yoga and zen etc. What we want to know is has MG been under the knife or under an umbrella, if you know what I mean?

Something to chew on there folks. Don't pretend you're not glued to the set. Here to see us through till the traffic report is Carve Party with their 1983 hit "Spellbound. Bon Appetit.