Excerpt from Bobby Halfway Sets sail (London waits for no one)

Bobby stepped off the coach at Victoria Station, a shithole full of fumes and creepy rats scurrying in between the terminals looking for lost dumbfucks like him to cajole into darkness or rob and disappear. There are too many people here. The country boy guide book (folklore) shows the path of misfortune. If you’re broke its bedsit land for the first few days then if you find work maybe a studio flat or shared accommodation or if the money runs out before you get a job you run back home to the shit that drove you away.

Bobby met a couple of heroin soaked people who made promises they would never recall. He felt sorry for them until they kicked the shit out of him and stole his money except the small stash he kept in his shoe. He would remember them. Shepherds Bush was busy lots of different coloured people leading grey lives Bobby checked the address he had written down just after stepping out of a phone box full of broken windows to find a £20 note on the floor. ‘This makes up for the drug fuckers thievery’ he thought and smiled at his good fortune.

Crow House was a tall almost stately building that was in need of a wash. A 1930’s Town House that was probably ashamed of itself now. Bobby rang the bell a portly woman in an apron holding a mop looking older than she probably was opened the door. The woman seemed in a rush and looked like she was in the middle of cleaning the place, sweat like raindrops on windows were easing their way down her forehead. ‘come een’ she said paddling her hand towards her ‘I show you the rooma’ Bobby decided she must be Italian even if she wasn’t. The House was split into a couple of flats and 5 or 6 bedsits. The carpet on the stairs was cheap deep red and patterned with silver seahorses, which frankly is fucking weird. ‘This is the rooma, you paya deposit and I calla for the renta every Friday in da morning or in da evening’ she opened the door and left him to inspect.

Bobby glanced around thinking ‘this is the size of six open coffins’ before asking himself how the fuck he came up with such a picture. A single bed stuck in the corner with blankets that look liked they’ve been stolen from vagrants in the park. There was a sink with a small white boiler above it providing water hot enough to burn your hands every time you turned on the tap. A two ring cooker sat on top of a table resigned to its fate. A bigger ugly brown table with a linoleum cover and three arthritic chairs (‘why three’ he thought) were opposite the bed.

The most striking thing about this room was its piss yellow ceiling complimented by a deeper piss yellow light. The wallpaper was of course piss yellow too with strips of it arching like a swan’s neck as it peeled itself towards the floor. There was a three bar electric fire that seemed to be waiting to malfunction and burn the place down ‘da fire is onna da meter’ said the Italian woman ‘thatsa fuckinga expensiva’ Bobby thought.

Bobby handed Italian woman the deposit she gave him two keys one for his room and one for the main door. He thanked her closed the door and walked over to the window to admire the view of other people in other bedsits looking at him.

He was tired it was late he laid down on top of the bed took a book out from his rucksack that had been left on the coach. It was called The Wild West. He opened it read the first twenty pages about a lone cowboy pioneer. He smiled thinking ‘just like me’ before easing into sleep.

©JMcN2013