The Band
I’d just been working all night it was about three in the morning. I was offered some stools and as I had just moved house I didn’t dare say no. On my walk back the city life was dying and I was walking pass lowering shouts and drunken screams. I had two relatively heavy stools in each hand, my arms feeling like they’ll result looking like metal polls from the weight. The city’s centre had just held a food festival and the stalls were still erect but randomly placed making the streets look like an obstacle course. I look around and the only soul insight was a group of drunks I quickly walk pass. I walk up to a large chain supermarket and out of the ally next to it came an intoxicated skin head. He wore an overly large shirt and jeans what fitted and stopped just before his heavy boats. I become unsteady and nervous and begin to think that I could use the market stalls as a way to lose him. I figure if I do it very subtly then I won’t offend me, hence not beat me up (he looks rough). I guess everyone looks rough after a few drinks stumbling their way home but this guy looks like he could flip and chase you. There was this time when I was with my friends in our local, and the nearest cash machine was an half hours walk away, so I ran there and back. It was on the way that this guy jumped up from the bus stop, grabbed me by the shoulder and asked me for a light…I mean he must have seen the fag in my hand but he shitted me up like nothing I’ve ever felt before. There’s a nicotine urge, but this guy took it to a new level. I sort of feel like this guy could chase after me but maybe instead of asking me for a light he may just decide to kill me instead. So I lose myself in the never ending closed market stalls. The bordered up stalls made it feel like a ghost town and I was drifting like a transparent spirit, but then I saw him walk behind me, the plan wasn’t working.
He called to me, I think he said oi. I ignored him and carried on walking in hopes that he’ll just leave me be and carry on with whatever the hell it was he was doing. Throwing up his guts I imagine, the sicko. But then he catches pace and confronts me, he asks if I’m making a film.. Random drunk talk, he’s out of his mind, I think about how he’s going to kill me, knife to the throat, will be just use his fists? He offers to carry my ‘tripod’ what is actually a bar stool. I’m in no position to tell him no, though I do, and he persists, and I say no, and he persists so I end up having this drunkard carrying my stool home for me. He’s going to find out where I live, fuck. He talks to me, and he asks what I do, and I tell him I’m a student. I tell him what I’m studying I tell him anything he wants to hear as long as he doesn’t kill me. I’m in a band I don’t tell him this I just hinted that I was into music. And he tells me about his blues influences, he names no one he likes I assume he’s trying to somehow be cool. It’s is uncool in any degree to lie, especially when it comes to music. I carry on and he carries on talking out of his arse, I seriously can’t be arsed with this moronic nut job tonight, I stop caring about dying and I grab the stool of him just before my house.
There is no way he’s going to find out where I live he’s a god damn stalker, man. I drop my stools in my room, and play my guitar for an hour before I go to bed I practice some Hendrix and BB King. And because I felt like I had a brush with death I played the Clapton version of Knocking on heavens door, which was the closest I could find to how I was feeling. Though completely inappropriate as the original Dylan version was only done for a TV show and he sings in first person about a sheriff dying or something. It could be that I knew that which made me laugh and abit more cheerful. I fall asleep abit less freaked out at the nights freak. I woke up at noon the next day, I fell silent as I looked out of my apartment window and saw the guy from last night playing guitar right outside the door of the flat I live in. I think he was playing Hot Rod Circuit’s You Kill Me, and boy he killed me right then. The only thing I could think of was to stay inside till he left, he did at about eight at night. I was petrified but impressed that he knew Hot Rod Circuit, they’re not exactly a band everyone knows of. And I thought he would have been playing some blues as it’s what he said he preferred, I don’t know. I was more occupied with how he found out where I lived, did he follow me? What kind of putrid clown is he?
I fall asleep again, hoping that he’ll still be gone tomorrow but there he was again the next day right outside the door. He’s started buskin, the passers by none the wiser of his stalking tendencies. I hold my guts and act like I’m not a coward, though if I’m honest I am. I walk up to him and he immediately stops playing, he was doing a blues riff I was unsure with, that got on my nerves.. He looks at me like he’s in love he says he’s heard me play. “I saw you play last Thursday man, you were hot”, it took a minute before I said anything the only thing other than feeling complimented was that I felt abit awkward “Err, cheers mate but I don’t swing that tree”. It’s the only thing I could think of to say other than ‘why are you stalking me?” “Nah, don’t worry mate, I’m not a fan of coconuts either, just really love your sound, punk ain’t it?” “Yeah mixed with early rock and jazz, I don’t just focus myself on one genre you know, mate” “Nah, nah, nah I know mate but it sounded like you love the punk sound that’s all, you know fast, short, political, sound mate that’s all”. “Cheers, but why are you stalking me?” It just slipped out I couldn’t help it, it was driving me up the ladder, you know?” “Name’s Smokey, and I’m looking for some soul mates for a new power group, I like your griff, it’s the sex, sorry mate not trying to come on to ya, ya just so cute” “Sorry Smokers, don’t join bands with Comedians, who do you think I am? What music are you trying to make, fucking Peter Kay rock or summut?” “Just making sweet love with my instruments, ya gotta kno the drill, twenty four hour love making” “Anyone ever told you to quit the crack?” “Just God, but I ignore him, everyone else seems to” “God? Fuck, then I’m definitely not, religions a joke, get with the twenty-first century, yeah?”
He was really starting to piss me off, so I went back inside away from the lunatic. I start to wonder though, I mean he knows his stuff, and my band’s going nowhere, I mean what if I take him up on his offer? Is this meant to happen, is this drunkard/stoner/drug abuser meant to have found me? This to me can was coming close to faith, making me hate myself, and fell ill. And I let lose my lunch, the idea of faith actually made me sick. After wiping my mouth of the vomit and rinsing with some mouthwash to void off the smell of stale smoke I open the front door, he lets himself in with a smug smile; the man doesn’t say a word. We go in and I make tea, as it’s the English thing to do, tea and biscuits, and spliff. Though I can’t really see the Queen having a joint on a Sunday, but she might once she starts dying. Fuck, it would change the country for the better once they stop believing all these false idols I mean Posh and Becks for fuck sake, Posh and fucking Becks! That’s when you know your country is in some trouble, when people give more of a shit about some god damn celebrities, one who can’t sing and another who’s only good at kicking a ball in a certain way, that’s it man, that’s it. A bloke who acts camper than any homosexual I’ve ever met., which makes me think about stereotypes. Stereotypes furiate me, fucking people actually like to be categorised as well, who would want to? Though I have to admit I’m a walking cliché, I’m a rock star (of sorts, yeh) who gets drunk and abuses drugs (when I can get them).
So there I sat with Smokey strumming some random chords, playing with scales, and you know what, it sounded ace. I started to feel like I could be in love with this guy. We play for hours before we stop for a break, it was like a dream, his eeriness leaps over my head via the connection we were making it was like a blessing in some religious cult. Then I heard a knock on my door, it was Felicity. Felicity’s a model, who loves crack and cock. I’ve been trying to get with her since I layed eyes on her a few months back, we’ve been together a few times. And I’ve never had better sex with anyone else, she knows how to do it man, nuff said. First thing on my mind was to get a shag from her, but then I bloody realise that Smokey was in the flat, so I tell him to scat. He doesn’t the bugger, so I tell him to do one or I’ll break his jaw with his amp. Before anything kicks off Flick stops us both and slides comfortably between us. “I’ve not seen you before cutie, you a friend of my baby Miles?” God, this embarrasses me, I hate how she calls me her baby, cute yeah, and it means she likes me, but God not with Smokey, he’s just gonna try and cop it off with her. You know what else, she’ll probably fuck him senseless as well, and try to make me join in, the sick bitch; but God I love her. She doesn’t though, and she stays the night whilst me and Smokey jam… When he leaves, me and Flick start fooling about, it was morning, I was hungover but wasn’t prepared to tell her to stop. You never tell Flick to stop, not even if it saves your life, you will not see her again, or your balls, man.
A year passed, Smokey was a little stranger than ever. And I was celebrating my years anniversary with Flick, man I’m a lucky beast. We had a gig coming up at the local arena, we weren’t far from being signed. I only know cause we’re playing at the King James hall, it’s the place for talent spotters, and we’re undiluted, fucking I can feel it. We called ourselves the Saints, we thought we were being clever and ironic, but the truth was we were stoned. The name stuck though, and we seemed to be getting recognition. Our web page as more than 100,000 hits, and we’ve got fans. There’s always that thing, it’s like any high, you just want more. I swear I’m going to do some serious criminal shit if we don’t get signed tonight. I just think it’s now or never you know? Before the gig I was waiting in the van for Flick and Smokey, I told Smokey that she was coming over and I’ve actually started to trust him abit. They came out together and Flick was looking abit flushed, it was probably from all the washing I had left, she’s a major clean freak. That night was amazing, our set was flawless, Jamie J our drummer was tight and Geoff was spouting out rhythms like I’ve never heard him do it. And me and Smokey, God, serious, it was like being on coke. The crowd applauded, we had an encore, it was beautiful. I’m not getting soppy or anything it’s just that I’d never had such a crowd before, they were hanging on to us with every note, singing the lines what were easy to remember. Later I found out we got signed, I was stoked, not that I’m trying to be American, but God, I was buzzing. When I got home I was absolutely gone, on another planet, I must have had my fair amount of crack and Vodka. I didn’t remember much that night, but what I found out was too much. Smokey had killed some whore he was fucking, which didn’t put me in a good light.
I remained calm whilst he was cracking out a bong, panicking to hell. We decided to ditch her body in the lakes what weren’t too far from the flat. I couldn’t see the hookers face, it looked like Smokey got abit carried away with her, and beat her senseless. There was blood everywhere; I wasn’t there for any of it. When I saw what happened I pucked my guts up through my mouth, I swear. He had cut her limbs off I only saw what was left of her face by pure accident. We threw her carcass in the lakes, they sank like an anvil, I felt calm. We really had hit the big time, our songs were playing like non stop on Radio One, Radio One man what a fucking break. We felt like Gods, I felt like God. I moved house in a week, but when I moved I realised I hadn’t seen Flick in a week. . . Oh fuck, did I? The thoughts burned threw my mind, I was about ready to kill Smokey, had he seriously killed Flick? Did he fuck her, how fucking long? I walked up to his house with a shotgun, loaded. I knocked on his door, as soon as he saw it was me he leaped out of his flesh. “Milesy, bud, just put the shotgun down and we’ll talk yeah?” I shot in the air, I scared some kids, I stopped caring. “For fuck sake, you didn’t even want to be a dad now anyway right, I did you a favor!” “She was pregnant?” I fired another round through his door, I’m pretty sure I hit him. “Miles listen, I die, the band dies, Flick wouldn’t of wanted it this way man” “You’re a fucking cunt Smokey, and you know what cunts get?” “A hole in the….” I shot him point blank, I had enough of his shit. I felt like dying, the band was over, the dream was gone, Flick’s dead. I got rid of her body… I was thinking of Cobain right now, I had the shotgun, I could saw it off to really do the Cobain. Then, I realised what I could do. I went to the lake where me and that arsehole, may he burn in hell got rid of her body. I swam in, I fished for her limbs, I got back to my new house, I sewed her parts back together, I cried, I think she did as well…
He called to me, I think he said oi. I ignored him and carried on walking in hopes that he’ll just leave me be and carry on with whatever the hell it was he was doing. Throwing up his guts I imagine, the sicko. But then he catches pace and confronts me, he asks if I’m making a film.. Random drunk talk, he’s out of his mind, I think about how he’s going to kill me, knife to the throat, will be just use his fists? He offers to carry my ‘tripod’ what is actually a bar stool. I’m in no position to tell him no, though I do, and he persists, and I say no, and he persists so I end up having this drunkard carrying my stool home for me. He’s going to find out where I live, fuck. He talks to me, and he asks what I do, and I tell him I’m a student. I tell him what I’m studying I tell him anything he wants to hear as long as he doesn’t kill me. I’m in a band I don’t tell him this I just hinted that I was into music. And he tells me about his blues influences, he names no one he likes I assume he’s trying to somehow be cool. It’s is uncool in any degree to lie, especially when it comes to music. I carry on and he carries on talking out of his arse, I seriously can’t be arsed with this moronic nut job tonight, I stop caring about dying and I grab the stool of him just before my house.
There is no way he’s going to find out where I live he’s a god damn stalker, man. I drop my stools in my room, and play my guitar for an hour before I go to bed I practice some Hendrix and BB King. And because I felt like I had a brush with death I played the Clapton version of Knocking on heavens door, which was the closest I could find to how I was feeling. Though completely inappropriate as the original Dylan version was only done for a TV show and he sings in first person about a sheriff dying or something. It could be that I knew that which made me laugh and abit more cheerful. I fall asleep abit less freaked out at the nights freak. I woke up at noon the next day, I fell silent as I looked out of my apartment window and saw the guy from last night playing guitar right outside the door of the flat I live in. I think he was playing Hot Rod Circuit’s You Kill Me, and boy he killed me right then. The only thing I could think of was to stay inside till he left, he did at about eight at night. I was petrified but impressed that he knew Hot Rod Circuit, they’re not exactly a band everyone knows of. And I thought he would have been playing some blues as it’s what he said he preferred, I don’t know. I was more occupied with how he found out where I lived, did he follow me? What kind of putrid clown is he?
I fall asleep again, hoping that he’ll still be gone tomorrow but there he was again the next day right outside the door. He’s started buskin, the passers by none the wiser of his stalking tendencies. I hold my guts and act like I’m not a coward, though if I’m honest I am. I walk up to him and he immediately stops playing, he was doing a blues riff I was unsure with, that got on my nerves.. He looks at me like he’s in love he says he’s heard me play. “I saw you play last Thursday man, you were hot”, it took a minute before I said anything the only thing other than feeling complimented was that I felt abit awkward “Err, cheers mate but I don’t swing that tree”. It’s the only thing I could think of to say other than ‘why are you stalking me?” “Nah, don’t worry mate, I’m not a fan of coconuts either, just really love your sound, punk ain’t it?” “Yeah mixed with early rock and jazz, I don’t just focus myself on one genre you know, mate” “Nah, nah, nah I know mate but it sounded like you love the punk sound that’s all, you know fast, short, political, sound mate that’s all”. “Cheers, but why are you stalking me?” It just slipped out I couldn’t help it, it was driving me up the ladder, you know?” “Name’s Smokey, and I’m looking for some soul mates for a new power group, I like your griff, it’s the sex, sorry mate not trying to come on to ya, ya just so cute” “Sorry Smokers, don’t join bands with Comedians, who do you think I am? What music are you trying to make, fucking Peter Kay rock or summut?” “Just making sweet love with my instruments, ya gotta kno the drill, twenty four hour love making” “Anyone ever told you to quit the crack?” “Just God, but I ignore him, everyone else seems to” “God? Fuck, then I’m definitely not, religions a joke, get with the twenty-first century, yeah?”
He was really starting to piss me off, so I went back inside away from the lunatic. I start to wonder though, I mean he knows his stuff, and my band’s going nowhere, I mean what if I take him up on his offer? Is this meant to happen, is this drunkard/stoner/drug abuser meant to have found me? This to me can was coming close to faith, making me hate myself, and fell ill. And I let lose my lunch, the idea of faith actually made me sick. After wiping my mouth of the vomit and rinsing with some mouthwash to void off the smell of stale smoke I open the front door, he lets himself in with a smug smile; the man doesn’t say a word. We go in and I make tea, as it’s the English thing to do, tea and biscuits, and spliff. Though I can’t really see the Queen having a joint on a Sunday, but she might once she starts dying. Fuck, it would change the country for the better once they stop believing all these false idols I mean Posh and Becks for fuck sake, Posh and fucking Becks! That’s when you know your country is in some trouble, when people give more of a shit about some god damn celebrities, one who can’t sing and another who’s only good at kicking a ball in a certain way, that’s it man, that’s it. A bloke who acts camper than any homosexual I’ve ever met., which makes me think about stereotypes. Stereotypes furiate me, fucking people actually like to be categorised as well, who would want to? Though I have to admit I’m a walking cliché, I’m a rock star (of sorts, yeh) who gets drunk and abuses drugs (when I can get them).
So there I sat with Smokey strumming some random chords, playing with scales, and you know what, it sounded ace. I started to feel like I could be in love with this guy. We play for hours before we stop for a break, it was like a dream, his eeriness leaps over my head via the connection we were making it was like a blessing in some religious cult. Then I heard a knock on my door, it was Felicity. Felicity’s a model, who loves crack and cock. I’ve been trying to get with her since I layed eyes on her a few months back, we’ve been together a few times. And I’ve never had better sex with anyone else, she knows how to do it man, nuff said. First thing on my mind was to get a shag from her, but then I bloody realise that Smokey was in the flat, so I tell him to scat. He doesn’t the bugger, so I tell him to do one or I’ll break his jaw with his amp. Before anything kicks off Flick stops us both and slides comfortably between us. “I’ve not seen you before cutie, you a friend of my baby Miles?” God, this embarrasses me, I hate how she calls me her baby, cute yeah, and it means she likes me, but God not with Smokey, he’s just gonna try and cop it off with her. You know what else, she’ll probably fuck him senseless as well, and try to make me join in, the sick bitch; but God I love her. She doesn’t though, and she stays the night whilst me and Smokey jam… When he leaves, me and Flick start fooling about, it was morning, I was hungover but wasn’t prepared to tell her to stop. You never tell Flick to stop, not even if it saves your life, you will not see her again, or your balls, man.
A year passed, Smokey was a little stranger than ever. And I was celebrating my years anniversary with Flick, man I’m a lucky beast. We had a gig coming up at the local arena, we weren’t far from being signed. I only know cause we’re playing at the King James hall, it’s the place for talent spotters, and we’re undiluted, fucking I can feel it. We called ourselves the Saints, we thought we were being clever and ironic, but the truth was we were stoned. The name stuck though, and we seemed to be getting recognition. Our web page as more than 100,000 hits, and we’ve got fans. There’s always that thing, it’s like any high, you just want more. I swear I’m going to do some serious criminal shit if we don’t get signed tonight. I just think it’s now or never you know? Before the gig I was waiting in the van for Flick and Smokey, I told Smokey that she was coming over and I’ve actually started to trust him abit. They came out together and Flick was looking abit flushed, it was probably from all the washing I had left, she’s a major clean freak. That night was amazing, our set was flawless, Jamie J our drummer was tight and Geoff was spouting out rhythms like I’ve never heard him do it. And me and Smokey, God, serious, it was like being on coke. The crowd applauded, we had an encore, it was beautiful. I’m not getting soppy or anything it’s just that I’d never had such a crowd before, they were hanging on to us with every note, singing the lines what were easy to remember. Later I found out we got signed, I was stoked, not that I’m trying to be American, but God, I was buzzing. When I got home I was absolutely gone, on another planet, I must have had my fair amount of crack and Vodka. I didn’t remember much that night, but what I found out was too much. Smokey had killed some whore he was fucking, which didn’t put me in a good light.
I remained calm whilst he was cracking out a bong, panicking to hell. We decided to ditch her body in the lakes what weren’t too far from the flat. I couldn’t see the hookers face, it looked like Smokey got abit carried away with her, and beat her senseless. There was blood everywhere; I wasn’t there for any of it. When I saw what happened I pucked my guts up through my mouth, I swear. He had cut her limbs off I only saw what was left of her face by pure accident. We threw her carcass in the lakes, they sank like an anvil, I felt calm. We really had hit the big time, our songs were playing like non stop on Radio One, Radio One man what a fucking break. We felt like Gods, I felt like God. I moved house in a week, but when I moved I realised I hadn’t seen Flick in a week. . . Oh fuck, did I? The thoughts burned threw my mind, I was about ready to kill Smokey, had he seriously killed Flick? Did he fuck her, how fucking long? I walked up to his house with a shotgun, loaded. I knocked on his door, as soon as he saw it was me he leaped out of his flesh. “Milesy, bud, just put the shotgun down and we’ll talk yeah?” I shot in the air, I scared some kids, I stopped caring. “For fuck sake, you didn’t even want to be a dad now anyway right, I did you a favor!” “She was pregnant?” I fired another round through his door, I’m pretty sure I hit him. “Miles listen, I die, the band dies, Flick wouldn’t of wanted it this way man” “You’re a fucking cunt Smokey, and you know what cunts get?” “A hole in the….” I shot him point blank, I had enough of his shit. I felt like dying, the band was over, the dream was gone, Flick’s dead. I got rid of her body… I was thinking of Cobain right now, I had the shotgun, I could saw it off to really do the Cobain. Then, I realised what I could do. I went to the lake where me and that arsehole, may he burn in hell got rid of her body. I swam in, I fished for her limbs, I got back to my new house, I sewed her parts back together, I cried, I think she did as well…
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