DOCKER TOWN

Smoke so thick you have to swallow hard or your throat is in danger of closing and never being able to open again. Your eyes sting but gradually become accustomed as you enter the saloon. A woman sits at the end of the bar dressed in clothes that ought to belong to her daughter. Waiting, hoping, praying that someone will buy her a drink. Very few do. There’s a man just two feet away from her in a suit two sizes too big for him. He’s lost weight, convinces himself that it’s because he’s “looking after himself.” Truth is, he’s never been overweight in his life and he’s using the toilet more than he used to. He orders another scotch, large of course, no ice. Three men are sat by the fire. It’s not alight even though it’s freezing outside. They’re working men. Hands rough and scarred, from unloading barges that come into the dock nearby. All drinking the cheapest beer the landlord offers. Voices are raised from another corner. Two men square up to each other, each hoping that the other won’t actually throw a punch. A bigger man steps between them and pushes them apart. They’re both glad of the interruption. The landlady shouts out “Oi, not in here, take it outside.” Her blouse buttons straining to keep back the enormous white breasts that she knows keeps the workers coming in. There’s a blackboard on the far wall. In chalk it says “ Food Served Here.” It’s actually sandwiches. Cheese, ham or egg. There’s a man drinking from a pewter mug that he keeps behind the bar, makes him feel like he’s at home, because he has no real home. But here everyone knows his name. It’s an hour before midday and yet at least three people are slumped in a chair too drunk to move. Dockers pubs open early. You can hear music, a piano is playing and through the haze you see a man sitting on a stool playing something vaguely familiar. People are singing along. All out of key, but so is the piano.You gaze too long at a man standing at the bar with a scar that goes from his mouth to his ear. He shouts out. "Who the fuck you looking at?". You leave by the same door you came in through.

Welcome to Docker Town.