Bank Statements

Thrisis

There were too many decisions to make, so he went to the pub. Thirty quid should be enough for today. The more he took out the more he would drink, he would try and keep a clear head.It was a scruffy sort of boozer; not yet turned gastro, just the kind he liked. Taking a pint and whisky chaser to a private corner Dan took out a pen and started to write. It was a list, a list he hoped would clarify his current predicament, a list he hoped, would change things.

‘Do you do that often?’ a voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘Do what?’
‘Write things’
‘no’ said Dan and wriggled out of his body warmer.
‘mind if I sit here?’
‘yeh I do actually, I’m busy.’ He downed his whisky and gave the woman a hard stare.

‘What are you writing?’
‘Why are you asking?’
‘You look interesting, that’s all.’

Dan appraised his appearance: converse, jeans, adidas hoody, slightly receding. What did this woman find ‘interesting’ about him? Average. Normal. That’s what his school reports and work colleagues had always said. So he was was writing the list. He’s done thirty years like this and couldn’t stand another thirty more. Just when he had decided to take control of his life, at that very moment he was being quizzed by a woman. typical. He tried to ignore her and looked at the paper in front of him. Aims, he had written. He chewed the end of the pen. Dislike he scrawled. That was an easier start:

Insurance, paperwork, jogging, sushi…
‘Why don’t you like sushi?’ the woman said.
‘Can’t you just leave me alone?’
‘I could… but I’m bored and that looks like an interesting list, can I help?’

She didn’t wait for Dan to answer, instead she went to the bar returning with a pint of cider and he noticed, a pretty smile, despite her tired looking face.
‘You’re married then? me too. How old are you? about 30? midlife crisis is this?’ She gestured towards the list with a grimy hand. 

‘I’ve got a list like that in my bag and an hour to kill. Let’s compare.’

Las Vegas Baby!

Finally, the beginning of the longest weekend in history. Andrew had been saving for what felt like an age. He had done it thought, finally reached the zenith. Just short of three and a half grand. Fuck me. He had never seen that much money in his account ever and soon it would be invested in glorious memories. He had enough now. Enough to head over to las vegas with the lads and to have a proper time. To have it large, to smash it. Las vegas had always been a distant dream for him, his mates had talked about it in Tenerife, they had also talked about it in Magaluf and then five of them decided to go long and invest in a mega holiday. The idea was to stick two of the shag and booze trips together. Andrew wasn’t really a gambler though, he just wanted to have an adventure with his friends, to live out the hangover. To wake up in a trashed hotel room with a  tiger, Mike Tyson and a stripper wife. Andrew’s friends were waiting for him in the pub he felt a rush in his fingertips as the potential of the moment washed over his mind. He never made it. Andrew died that night defending his friends in a stupid drunken argument over a place in a kebab shop queue. He was stabbed in the throat. The killer was never caught.

Working on working

Transport cost so much these days, the average price for a bus trip was £2.20. “That’s almost half an hours work,” thought Moses. It never seemed to be enough either, only three weeks ago, the “getting around” had been 10% cheaper. At this rate it would be impossible to even get out to look for a job. Moses worked, he worked as a child, he worked as a teen and now as a man he was working harder than ever. The only thing was he wasn’t getting paid. This work was the worst of all. An unpaid fearful ramble into the unknown. In a way it was a shameful walk, Moses had never had to ask anyone for anything. He was a good worker. He knew fish, he had mongered it since childhood. Yet no one, not a single monger on the rye was interested in his labour. Maybe it was the scar on his cheek or the fact he was missing a finger. He knew that he needed to make an investment in travel. To find a job he would have to search further a field. His brother knew a guy in Clapham and someone at the mosque new a guy in Wembley. The money he had saved was dwindling now. Three months out of work  was beginning to dent his belief and his families confidence. He couldn’t face the unemployment office again. It just wasn’t an option.

Happy Mothers day!

A Small bunch of flowers and a box of maltesers mean the world when you give away a quarter of your wealth.

The final frontier

The woman sitting opposite Martin on the train wore a beige rain mac. It wasn’t obvious but she was also crying, she seemed to be trying to hide the tears from the almost empty carriage. Never one to leave people in emotional turmoil Martin engaged her with a gentle nudge, “Are you okay?”. She looked sheepishly around and began the diatribe. “I have worked all over the world, Africa, ivory coast , Bangladesh flood victims, treating people in conflict zones” Her voice began to tremble as if it was too much “you know the worst place in the world I have worked”. She hovered for Martins response. Before he could answer, “Whitechapel hospital, I have been attacked more than I can remember. It’s the drug addicts or the drunks or the ignorant’s. I am meant to be helping them, but they constant try to hit out, verbally threatening me. Just the other day someone threated to stab me WATCH YOUR BACK DOC!, That’s what he said, I have never been so frightened and all because I wouldn’t give him more, more this or that it doesn’t matter. They think the world owes them a living. They haven’t got a clue. How do they end up like that, Zombies, just zombies and so aggressive. What for?” Martin held out his hand to the woman and she grabbed it. “I am sorry you feel so bad, why don’t you come with me, we can grab a coffee and talk about it. This is my stop, I have to get off here.“ The exhausted doctor declined, looked out the window. Martin feeling like he was tip toeing away made his way off the train and was gone. I need a drink he thought to himself as he approached the cash machine!

Big man, small body

Keith always knew it was better to be the richest man on the poorest street, than the poorest on the richest. Small in stature Keith knew he could rely on his bank balance to get him through the day. He wasn’t the greatest at his job, actually, he had risen only due to other peoples failure and misery. Keith’s balance, however was a secret. He couldn’t tell anyone about it, not even his wife. The product of back handers at the council from developer friends. Keith didn’t think of the money as illegal, he though of it as a deserved favour. You know a car park on a school field here, a development on a little bit of protected land there.  Well? How the hell did they expect him to live on his meagre salary at central office anyway? He was looking forwards to his lunch time liason. Every Friday at 12.30 an hour with Melanie.