Glasgow opened with a scene straight out of Trainspotting. On the train at that, all pish, chips and vinegar. Athlone opened, appropriately, in a garage. Not the usual piss and a Kit-Kat en route to Galway garage, but a suburban shop with petrol pumps and Polish counter staff. Ho, and indeed, hum. The shape of things to come?
The girls browsed the shelves, making noise about white wine spritzers and Pringles. Except for Strawberry Shortcake, who snotted herself on a yellow Caution! sign in her haste for the bathroom.
The shape of things to come.
Me? I was eyeing up the Bucky. Throwing it the kind of filthy, lustful looks you reserve for your lover after too much wine. Fingering the cans of Bulmers. I couldn't possibly. I was feeling insecure, you see. My hostess noticed me dithering like a dipso at a disco and pointed out that I was in Athlone, and that she was toting a six pack of Ritz. Bucky and Bulmers it is.
Two hours later agus mise ar mo shó, with Strawberry doing her best to get me on my ear. Maybe it's three hours later. We're in Karma, and it feels like we're in 1996.
I stood around looking cool, thinking cool, thinking I am too cool, for this school. Reality begged to differ. I may have looked every inch the aloof city sophistikitty in my head, but to him I looked approachable, and approach he did. You know him. The small, baldy, sweaty one with his creepy little hands deep in his sticky little pockets, rooting at his testicles. The one you hope isn't looking at you. But he was looking at me, and he fancied his chances. "Are you from Ah Loan yourself?" he barked at my nipples. No, I said. Dublin. "I was going to go outside for a bit of a walk" he said, licking his chapped lips. "I was thinking you'd want to come with me, like". Tempting? No. He broke eye contact then and resumed staring at my tits. "The wife's brother's missus is from Dublin" he mused, thoughtfully. "She's alright".
The girls browsed the shelves, making noise about white wine spritzers and Pringles. Except for Strawberry Shortcake, who snotted herself on a yellow Caution! sign in her haste for the bathroom.
The shape of things to come.
Me? I was eyeing up the Bucky. Throwing it the kind of filthy, lustful looks you reserve for your lover after too much wine. Fingering the cans of Bulmers. I couldn't possibly. I was feeling insecure, you see. My hostess noticed me dithering like a dipso at a disco and pointed out that I was in Athlone, and that she was toting a six pack of Ritz. Bucky and Bulmers it is.
Two hours later agus mise ar mo shó, with Strawberry doing her best to get me on my ear. Maybe it's three hours later. We're in Karma, and it feels like we're in 1996.
I stood around looking cool, thinking cool, thinking I am too cool, for this school. Reality begged to differ. I may have looked every inch the aloof city sophistikitty in my head, but to him I looked approachable, and approach he did. You know him. The small, baldy, sweaty one with his creepy little hands deep in his sticky little pockets, rooting at his testicles. The one you hope isn't looking at you. But he was looking at me, and he fancied his chances. "Are you from Ah Loan yourself?" he barked at my nipples. No, I said. Dublin. "I was going to go outside for a bit of a walk" he said, licking his chapped lips. "I was thinking you'd want to come with me, like". Tempting? No. He broke eye contact then and resumed staring at my tits. "The wife's brother's missus is from Dublin" he mused, thoughtfully. "She's alright".
