Joe & Alan

Oi, slag, what time is it?

Time you bought a fuckin' watch, Alan.

Christ, what's wrong with you?

Nowt.

Then tell your fucking face.

That's Alan. Me mate of 14 long sufferin' years. Our mums hit it off, so to speak, after me mum hit his mum's car with hers in the car park of Safeway. They got chattin'. We got chattin'. The rest were history. I were only 5.  

How quickly time flies.

Alan broke his watch last week. Well, I say broke. A woman smashed it after she found out he were sleepin' with her fella.  

He's a right pillock, but you can excuse a lot. He's all talk and no bite.

Ashley says it's small man syndrome. To make up for the fact that he has a tiny nob.  

I've seen it. It ain't that small. It's bigger than a breadstick. And as thick as a Richmond sausage I had for me dinner the other night.

Alan, don't be a prick. I'm not in the mood.

I take a drag of me ciggie. Then, just to feel somethin', I stub it out on me arm. I hiss as it leaves a nasty, round burn mark on me skin.  

That's bad for your skin, that.

I ignore him and do it again.

He left you, then?

… … …

I'm sorry, Joe.

It were always goin' to happen.

I say with a shrug.

I'm not wrong. Max were a fun shag while it lasted, but he were no Mr Darcy.

He were no pride and all prejudice: all of which he showed to Mr Shaar down the road.

Max were a racist piece of shit.

And I were all the better for kickin' his sorry arse to the curb… if it weren't for the fact he were the one who dumped me.

He kept sayin' I were too woke for him. Because I had pineapple on pizza and thought Nigel Farage were a scuzz bucket.

That shoulda be a red flag. But you know what they say: a red flag through rose-tinted glasses is just a flag.

And me lenses were redder than John Lennon's.

Ugh.

I do know how to pick ’em.

In me defence, I didn't know he were an actual Nazi. Not at first. I thought he were just teasin'. That he were just bein’ edgy.

Not until I saw his X notifications pop up during a blow job.

But by then, I were in too deep.

No pun intended.

Well, I'm not going to say I told you so.

How kind.

But I did fucking tell you so.

Thanks.

For someone else?

How the fuck do I know, Alan? I didn't ask him. I were … in the bathroom. He left me to pay the check. Then blocked me number when I tried to call. Prick!

I burn meself again.

Jesus.

It were almost £50. Not goin' to see that again.

I burn me palm.

Urgh! Son of a ... ... ...!! AHHHH!

... ... ...

Please don't look at me like that.

Like what?

With pity.

I don't...

Me Mum does. She said I were stupid. Fallin' for him. Thought he were a proper wrong'un.

Oh yeah? Well, I don't really look to Sheila Bea for dating advice. Have you seen your Dad? He's no Sharon Stone.

I laugh. I ain't seen Dad in years, not since the hoo-hah with the milkman and the gooseberry yoghurt.

Ugh... Can we go for a night out? Me treat? Get some cans and ciggies from Alexander's.  

Alexander's is our local corner shop. They never check ID there, so it were perfect back in the day. We once got a six-pack, a pack of Sterlings and a gay porno mag for £20. We took it up to the nearby playin' fields and made a night of it.  

Mum were proper pissed with us. But when is she not? Besides she is always out down The Feathers for a jar and a half, pulling every bloke who gives her the ol'come hither.

I once read on the bathroom wall where I go for a crafty one, that, for a good time, you can call Sheila Bea. And that she does house calls.

Means I get the house to meself most nights.

Me uncle said I were very much like me mum. Said it would get me into proper trouble.

Sod it. I don't care.

We can. But if you are £50 down, it's on me. No arguments.  

Ugh. Fine.

Tell you what, I'll break up with someone next week, so it's on you. Deal?

Deal.