When it gets raw

I was evicted from my apartment today. I had to collect my stuff from the landlord who let me into the apartment to get it.

I'm in the back of a taxi with a black bag of books, a crate of records, a bag of clothes, and a turntable. The taxi driver is listening to MF Doom. I ask him to turn it up, but he pretends not to hear me. He makes a comment about the bags but I ignore it.

At the storage place the clerk tells me it will cost me fifty to store my shit for the month. I give him a fifty and he gives me unit 342. It takes five minutes to find the unit. The clerk helps me with my shit. I thank him, take my key and leave.

I start heading south, in the direction of my best friends house. I kick a can as I walk and a kid with a hockey stick stops it and smashes it at his friend who I assume is goalie judging by the two sweaters making the goals. The kid laughs at it smashes his friends skull. I continue walking down several streets. I pass a MacDonald's think about going in. I go in.
I ordered a double cheeseburger and coke and take the only seat available, next to a kid colouring in a picture of Ronald. The kid looks at me and tells me I stink. I think about punching the kid, but instead tell him Santa clause isn't real and leave. I feel bad, I go back in, the kid is crying. I tell him Santa Clause is real, I was joking. An older guy, probably his father glares at me. I leave again.

Siobhan isn't home, this is good. I had sex with Siobhan so she would say no to me staying over. Chris is home, but he says no to me staying over. He says he'll give me a lift to my parents if I need it. I tell him I've got mad stacks, and public transport is cheap (I don't have mad stacks). He smirks and says that Siobhan hates me coming round, and she'd 'shit a duck' if I was staying over. I tell him it's cool. I use his bathroom, and I steal a book from his shelf as I walk down the hall.

I head back out to the street and call Jason. Ask him to meet me at the bar down the street from Chris' house. Jason agrees to meet me.

In the bar I have a rum and coke while I wait on Jason. Jason is writer I met online, he writes poetry and short stories. He's been published in several magazines and has a short story collection out on a New York Press. I have written many poems, plays, short stories. I have been rejected from many magazines and have never attempted to get a short story collection out on any press. I wasn't planning on asking Jason for a place to kip, merely, I wanted to get drunk with someone who I liked getting drunk with.

Jason arrived 20 minutes later, sporting an ironic moustache and skinny jeans. He sits down and gets up, heads to the bar, comes back with a rum and coke for himself, and one for me.

“I heard your homeless” he says sipping his rum and coke.

“Word travels fast in the cool circles”

“yeah? I wouldn't know. Is that why you called me?”

“Nah, I just wanted to get drunk”

“Good, because I'm sleeping in Joanna's polo”

“Volkswagen seats comfortable?” I ask jokingly

“No.” he sighs “Joanna threw me out for sleeping with Sara

I didn't know how to reply so I shook the glass as a signal for another drink.

Next Level

Two men in a bedroom. One is on the bed, the other is spread out on the floor. The guy on the floor is rubbing his stubble covered face.

Floor guy: [looks at the guy on the bed] Think Christmas will come early this year?

Bed guy: [Getting up off the bed] Yes. But I don't think you should get excited. [he grins] you're getting coal bitch!

The guy on the floor gets up and walks to the window he looks outside at two kids playing street hockey. He lights a cigarette. And passes one to the guy who was previously on the bed.

Floor guy: When I was younger my mother told me I was getting coal. I didn't get up on christmas day with the zest other kids did. I feared that I would get coal. When I finally got up my parents were sat in the living room surrounded by presents.

Bed guy: [interrupts] You didn't get coal?

Floor guy: [toneless] No. [long pause] I got empty boxes because I wasn't even worth the coal.

Bed guy: That's harsh. What did you do?

Floor guy: I killed my parents.

Bed guy: [lays back down on bed, puts the cigarette in his mouth, lights it, inhales] Sounds reasonable.

The guy who was on the floor opens the window, leans his head out and watches the kids playing hockey.

Hot and Spicy Chicken Noodles.

My facebook is depressing. There is no notifications involving me. There hasn't been for days. There hardly ever are. On the front page there is interactions between friends talking about hanging out. My friend is coming back from America and is contacting everyone about it. I have no notification. I get bored. Close the laptop and head out.

*

I'm in a Noodle Bar. It has mediocre noodles, but it serves beer too. It seems less depressing than sitting in a pub alone. I'm eating hot and spicy chicken noodles. I check my phone a lot even though I am not expecting a text. I have a copy of The Road to Reality by Roger Penrose. I am not reading it, but then, it is also not a fashion statement. I doubt people would be impressed. I'm listening to Johnny Foreigner. A guy complains that I have my music too loud. I remove my headphones and say that if I can hear him, they aren't loud enough. He moves further down the bar. I finish my noodles and order another beer. A guy I went to college comes in and sits next to me. He makes small talk about what I'm doing now, what he's doing now. I make up a few lies. Tell him I've been writing some stuff for magazines here and there. I haven't written in months. He leaves. I leave soon after.

*

I get into my house. My room mate is in the living room. He tells me he got a new record today. I say that's cool. He agrees. I to to my room. I go to sleep.

What's up bitches!

I started work this morning feeling shitty. I got really drunk last night and slept in the bar. I often sleep in the bar. My apartment is cold and my room mate hates me. We both came to age in the early 00s. Everyone that came to age in the early 00s hates each other. We were kids in the 90s, broken homes and joblessness was high. Then Nu-metal came along and made my generation angry, really angry. For no reason other than it felt good to get angry. Nu-metal was a bad invention. It wasn't very good music and made my generation angry. Fred Durst should release an official apology to my generation.

An excerpt from my untitled, probably never going to be finished 'detective' novel.

I sit in Denny's drinking coffee and eating a French toast breakfast.
The guy I'm watching is eating the same. But not drinking anything.
I pretend I am reading a book. Tao Lin's Richard Yates.
The man gets up and leaves.
I get up and follow him.
After walking for 3 minutes I get bored and go home.
My room mate asks me how the job went.
I told him good and then went to my room and lay on the floor.
My room mate comes into the room and says he made egg.
I ask if he flipped it.
He did not.
I don't want a non-flipped egg.

Lies I've been telling people all day.

I'm going to spend my days and nights in the pub reading through Cicero's The Insurgents, The Human War, and Best Behaviour, and then I'm going to read Pink's Person, Hurt Others, The self-esteem Holocaust, and No Hellos Diet, and then I'm going to huff paint, smoke cigarettes, get completely tanked and write the greatest British Alternative Lit novel. FUCK BEN BROOKS, nah, he's cool. I'll settle for being best Scottish alternative lit writer. I wont even quit my day job because fuck that!