Tag Archives: Fuck

131 Pump Friction

Monday morning, gawping through black double glazing into a dimly lit car park filled with a mix of second hand and third hand cars that men can just about afford and new cars they can’t afford but they drive them … Continue reading

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125. Fucking Amazing Dave

They aren’t all cunts. Obviously a lot of them are, but not all of them. I mean, even some of the workmates who I like are total cunts; racists, misogynists, badger baiters, thieves. It’s odd that I still think of … Continue reading

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124. Bloody Fast Food

Staffy has a shocking limp. He’s hobbling about, wincing and muttering. I say, “How do, Staffy. Hurt your foot?” He says, “Aye, Luci. I think I might have broke a bone in it or somethin’. Hurts like Holy Joe Fuck.” … Continue reading

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112. Pearly Clean

“Morning Luci.” “Morning Sasquatch. How you doing?” “Fair to shit. Here, take a look at this.” Phone pictures. “She’s pretty, Sasquatch. Who is she?” “My new bird. Shirley.” “Very nice. Lovely blonde hair, I see.” “Yeah. Blonde.” “Indeed. And she … Continue reading

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109. Sheepish.

I walked through platemaking, but there wan’t a platemaker to be seen. You’d usually find Weasel in his corner, mug of tea in his bony fist, crouched over the Racing Post with a greasy stub of pencil, making notes in … Continue reading

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107. Don’t Let me be Misunderstood.

I found Reg fascinating. Proper old school, white bread sandwiches with grey meat every single day, heavy coat whatever the weather, didn’t queue by the punch-clock but polished his print press with a rag until the final bell, Brylcreemed hair … Continue reading

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97. The Outsiders.

I drained my whiskey and soda, sat back, lit a cigar. I listened. I could not hear the traffic outside, the shouting and the swearing and the constant hum of inane chatter that fills the streets, the chatter of people … Continue reading

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