BUS PASS AGE

We met, the three of us, in Cabot Circus. Neither Cake nor Thebus had been there since it opened and they wanted a look.
‘Help we’re here and we’re lost in wonder,’ said a text as I turned left on to Bond Street.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there soon,’ I texted back, hoping to reassure.
From the Horsefair near MacDonalds, down to the centre of the circus where I saw them the on the first level and took the escalator, and up behind them as they studied one of the information posts, Cake standing to the right of Thebus who knelt before it pointing his finger at the map was showing.
‘I was just praying,’ said Thebus getting up when I said, ‘Hello.’
After a brief tour, we crossed Castle Park - stopped for a joint, admired the water feature near the church - on our way to one of the pubs on Victoria Street the far side of Bristol Bridge.
‘That’s the one I was talking about,’ said Thebus. ‘The Kings Head.’
But before we went in we had a look around “The Temple or The Holy Cross,” just to the left of and behind the pub.
Dark corners I thought would be good for a quiet night if homeless but ‘I’d sleep in the park,’ said Thebus, and I said, ‘If you did that at least you wouldn’t be trapped if someone found you.’
One time I slept beneath a bench in Trafalgar Square, and was gone before the police, who, when I woke in the morning, where arresting another dosser on a bench against an adjacent wall to me, got to where I’d been sleeping. That’s why I’d kept with my boots on.
‘I’ll have one of those,’ said Cake.
‘Two pints of the Doom Bar, then,’ said Thebus to the barmaid.
‘It’s a lovely pint, isn’t it?’ she said as she pulled the first into a straight glass.
But neither Cake nor Thebus answered and I thought, ‘How rude,’ but maybe they didn’t hear what she said and anyway it’s a harsh judgement to make of two people who bought me drinks all night because I’ve run out of money.
From the Kings Head to the Seven Stars by the Fleece, from there to Broadmead, down Union Street, St. James Barton, Stokes Croft, and wondering if the new massage service had a takeaway service.
Shame we couldn’t afford a session for Cake seeing as it was his birthday and it would’ve been a nice present for a man nearing bus pass age.

FROM THE BACK (Friday)

On the way over to the launch of the Compass of Mystery, Mivart Studios - a week of openings, this week - briefly at the Circus - youths waving, calling each other from different levels - shoppers going home to wear what they’ve bought, go out, visit friends, to the cinema, the pub...
...addiction fucks the future...dissolves the foundations of tomorrow...God, the big white telephone...
...psychosis when the acid’s stronger than expected, eating the mics like cornflakes, throwing up colours...
...the car broke down in the middle of nowhere, we sat smoking listening to the radio until the battery died. She got out when he told her.
‘Why’d you say that for?’
‘Fuck off,’ he said. ‘It’s none of your fucking business.’
‘Yeh, alright, I only asked.’
Later he said, ‘You fancy her, don’t you?’
His breath wrapped itself around my neck. Fuck, it wasn’t his breath it was his hands and we fought in the car, me from the front, him? From the back.

CABOT CIRCUS OPENING

CLARE

Dear Mr & Mrs Middleton,

I’ve been working for 5 hours and
I think it’s enough for me today.
I hope you have a lovely
weekend!
Thanks a lot,
Xuan

I will come on Monday afternoon
to carry on. (please write down
which you want me to do first (cleaning,
ironing...)

Thank you so much for all the
ironing. Please could you clean
first then a little ironing please
Clare

SPYING

She said, ‘You see Jamaica Street was cordoned off?’
‘You know what happened?’ I said.
‘A stabbing,’ he said, ‘three in the morning....on the steps of the hostel.’
‘They get who it was?’
‘They’re appealing for witnesses.’
‘Sober ones?’
I’d got a lift back from her place at lunchtime and because we couldn’t go down Jamaica Street from Stokes Croft we went round St. James Barton and turned left by Mickelburghs.
We’d spent the weekend with friends in West Wales. We’d gone for two walks: the first, the evening we arrived, the “Gentlemans” - more steep than the “Ladies” - to a short tunnel through rock came out to a pool fed by a waterfall; the second, up onto the moor we saw three horses roam free throughout the year. I whistled and waved and one of them raised its head from eating, probably wondered what the fuss was about. We dangled our feet in a cold stream drying them off sitting on rocks in the sun and had a few words with a group of people out walking with between them about ten dogs.
‘Do you know where the car park is?’ said one of the men.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘No.’
‘Is there a Wetherspoons nearby, at the top?’
‘Probably wouldn't be open even if there was,’ she said.
Close to home we saw one of our friends in the field below.
‘She looking for something?’
‘Could be,’ I said. ‘You think we should say hello?’
‘If we didn’t it’d be,’ she said, ‘like we were spying.’

THE JOHNSON FAMILY

“The Johnson Family” was a turn-of-the-century expression to designate good bums and thieves. It was elaborated into a code of conduct. A Johnson honors his obligations. His word is good and he is a good man to do business with. A Johnson minds his own business. He is not a snoopy, self-righteous, trouble-making person. A Johnson will give help when help is needed. He will not stand by while someone is drowning or trapped under a burning car.

Burroughs, W. (1983) The Place of Dead Roads, London: Flamingo

RIGHTEOUSNESS

‘...you have like, four thousand tethered greatly,’ he said.
‘From injustice and sickened years,’ I said.
‘Will they ever answer and proclaim?’
‘The very meek ones,’ I said. ‘And the righteousness.’

ONE PRICK

‘Can you hang on a minute?’ said Four when i got out the lift and he saw me from where he stood against the open door of the ground floor atrium.
‘What’s up?’
He waved his walking stick towards the bottom of the stairwell, ‘There’s someone there,’ he said, ‘and I’m going to ask them to leave.’
He went into the stairwell and I heard him say something to the man who sat, probably, on the second step. As he did so another man came down from above carrying a bundle of Big Issues.
I waited, watching, wondering what else I might do. But there was nothing. So I stood back as the three of them, the two unknowns followed by Four, came out the atrium door.
‘Go on,’ said Four. ‘Fuck off.’
We watched them go and when they had Four turned to me and said, ‘How do they get in here?’
‘Someone must let them in,’ I said.
‘Coming in here doing their drugs,’ he said.
‘I wouldn’t mind so much if they didn’t leave such a mess behind.’
‘When Alan the caretaker was here he’d come down the stairs and pick up all the syringes, end up with a bag full.’
‘What with the kids, around,’ I said.
‘Exactly, all those dirty needles,’ said Four. ‘It only takes one prick.’

TIME TOGETHER

She had scabs and scars all over her face I saw after she’d emerged from the shadows of the atrium as I got out the lift on my floor. She had black hair. She wore a black leather jacket, blue jeans.
‘Was that something pulling up outside, a car?’ she said.
‘Ay?’
‘Outside, is there a car pulling up?’
‘You’re on the top floor,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’ll be a problem.’
‘There were flashing lights,’ she said. ‘Orange or something...’
She came toward me as I put the key in my door.
‘Should be okay,’ I said.
‘Yes. Okay,’ she said then turned away and as I went into the flat she went into the corridor.
On my way up Hillview a man’d come out of The Bell (or is it the The Bell?) said, ‘Er, excuse me, excuse me.’
He must’ve heard me sigh, he said, ‘No, no, it’s nothing bad.’
‘How much do you want?’ I said.
‘Well,’ he said, no complaints, ‘I need fifteen pounds to get in the Full Moon...’
‘You can have this,’ I said, my change, all silver.
By this time we were standing close to each other. He counted a handful of change, added what I gave him.
‘If I give you...er...have you got...er, if you give me a tenner...’
‘I haven’t got a tenner,’ I said.
‘You got a fiver?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘If I give you,’ and he counted. ‘There’s one,’ he said giving me two fifties, ‘There’s another,’ two more, ‘Now,’ he said, ‘have I got any pound coins. I saw some earlier...’
‘That’s enough,’ I said after one pound coin and gave him the fiver.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
Walking away to the block I heard him say I supposed to someone else, ‘Excuse me, excuse me...’ as I felt bad about not giving him both my change and five pound note. Then I thought, but if I’d given him all the money I had on me then we’d not have spent so much time together and that would have been a loss.

THEN I WENT TO BROADMEAD

On my way to the Anarchist Bookfair at St. Werburghs Community Centre, Horfield Road, I was approached, behind the plumbers merchants on Ashley Road, by a young boy carrying in one hand a sheet of paper and in the other a pen.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ I said, seeing written on the paper he held out toward me a couple of names, addresses and amounts of money.
‘We’re doing a sponsored read at my school and I’m collecting sponsors...’
‘...and you want me to sponsor you?’
‘Yes.’
I thought a moment then said to this boy I’d not seen ever, ‘How will you collect the money or do you want me to give it to you now?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
I took out a pound coin, said, ‘Here, you can have a pound.’
‘Can you write your name down?’ he said, then added, indicating, ‘If you come over here you can rest the paper on the wall.’
‘It’s alright,’ I said, ‘I can do it here.’
Suspicious, I put only my initials, street name and what I gave him.
‘Thank you,’ he said when I said, ‘Here,’ giving him back the sheet of paper, ‘Good luck.’
At the fair, I bought a couple of pamphlets, being interested in the form, a weak cup of black coffee I eventually gave up on, and a vegan dal I ate whilst reading the event’s programme. I was sorry to miss, ‘The politics of mental health,’ a workshop given jointly by a service user and worker eleven that morning in the Bar room.
One more round of the stalls in the hall, bought a copy of Class War.
Then I went to Broadmead.

LUCKY

He wore an Arsenal shirt, that only later was I to discover had on its back the assumed name, ‘TYLER,’ above the numeral '4'.
He was talking to a woman wore grey and they were standing on the walkway to the flats as I came round the corner of Hillview late this afternoon.
Over the road, through a gap in the parked cars, along the pavement towards where they were saying goodbye.
‘Tch,’ as they walked to the door so we’d meet and might have to say, ‘Hello.’
A car, hatchback open, Ikea large blue bag, bedding, football, something else.
At the entrance she held the door, turned to me, heard me, she smiled and said, ‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ I said and followed him in nodding when our eyes met as he backed through the inner double doors.
‘Corridor?’ I thought but he went the way of the lift.
What floor?’ I said and then, ‘Just moving in?’ having decided not to spend the journey looking at the floor, saying nothing.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I can’t shake hands,’ they being full of box and, the nearest to me, the keys I noticed when he shook them.
I reached out my hand, held his briefly, we introduced ourselves.
‘See you around,’ he said as he got out.
‘Bye,’ I said and thought, ‘He was lucky it was me he said that too.’

MORGAN DALY

morgan daly to alexhighrise

Slapped down, and strung out
The product of a farming town
Come loose on Picton Street

I took my head and used my feet
A golden Angloangel down
Another lager lout




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If you want it use it
where can i get your magazine? i found the only one i have next to a homeless man

me to morgan daly

dear morgan daly

thank you for your donation
re where can you get my magazine - you can buy it for £1 at the Here shop on the corner of Stokes Croft and Ashley Road or find it on Stokes Croft where I leave a few copies the beginning of each month

morgan daly to me

ok cool

do you take contributions or is it all your work?

I'll look out for it the only copy I have is April's