Get real
Suburbia
The new gaff was far away from the Thames, from Chelsea to Thornton Heath.
I remember watching the series of houses squashed up by the road, all with the fresh lawn and the rubbish on the stool, waiting to be picked by a working class man.
"You'll die in the class you were born" I had heard this depressing slogan all over the news, young lads and girls screaming to the camera. "No future"
Now that I think of it the flames were growing into the classes, and the fire was to begin really soon. London would be burning in months, maybe a year, but the fury was waking from its kip.
Still when we moved I was young, and I was Au fait to the highest class. I couldn't get how had we got so gutted. No one ver explained to me, but It did not took me long to realize it was all on my dad. He used to have a company of fuck knows what, and I had read about its fall on the paper. So now we had gone down, what on earth could be our class?
Our gaff was on Hartley's road, number 56. It was just a Suburbia place. My room was on the second floor facing the yard. The life seemed dull around, the place remained static. The cars went on and on, and the one big road was Windmill.
We stepped down the cab, with all our stuff. Putting the suitcases and bag packs on the pavement. The bricked gaff was big enough for us, right in the centre of the street. As if we had been erased fromt eh map, I turned my sight to the left side and found thousand identical houses, I veered my eyes to the right side, thousand homes burning in boredom.
And I still missed auntie's I didn't got to say a decent goodbye, but I was planning on going back.
Few districts to the north, there was the city, we were not out of London, just exiled from our section, from our class.
"Mum?" My words were trembling and my mouth felt numb, but it was time to put paid to it, I had to know.
"Yes Gwen?" She had calmed down, her tone remained cold from that day on but she was not gonna shout anymore, not that she had the intention to ask for an apology.
"Dad lost his work right?, and, and we moved, so are we working class?" It took her some seconds to process the info, and she stared at me in horror. I had never seen her so hurt and conflicted in my life as when she nodded and turned around.
Dad turned the key around and pushed away the door. With a clack, we entered our home, It was to be our place for the rest of our sad lives, or at least for as long as I remained there. I walked into the place, it already had furniture but it wasn't ours. The gaff was jolly small, no lobby, no dressing gowns, no great entrance hall.
The living room was next to the door, to the right a thin hall led tot he kitchen, the stairs were at plain view by the living room. There was a small study on the back. Three rooms upstairs, and the attic. My room had no balcony, and my bed was not mine. A regular wooden bed, the closet had just enough room for my jacket, and some dresses.
Then I turned to discover I had no couch, no carpet, no coffee table, and a horrid night stand. I threw myself to the bed mentally zonked and unprepared for this life. I could hear the row of the cars down the road. My mind spit all over my luck, and the lack of furniture. I wasn't a whinger but buried my face on the pillow and screamed.
I had to go back to Will's. I never knew when but I fell asleep, wasn't a kip, more like a rush into the night. For soon I was to learn what the working class meant, and what night meant to them.
"Richard don't you see, this is a bandits hole!! I went down the store, and the employee is an Irish!! What are we gonna do about this people?" My mums desperate questions woke me up, in the raising night.
"Dear you very well know we can't do anything, we are gonna adjust to this filth. We wont let her mix up with them. That scum will not penetrate this house and you'll see very soon we will find our way back, just be patient!" I slide myself down the blankets and hit the floor, rolled around and got on my feet, a second later I was on with the door. My fathers voice was as uneasy as my moms. Their argument was so silly I wanted to slag them off.
When I heard it. There was a knock on the door, and Richard answered through the window.
I was watching by the stairs, It was a black boy saying something about being neighbors but, that's when I heard it.
"Go straight to hell boy!"
I remember watching the series of houses squashed up by the road, all with the fresh lawn and the rubbish on the stool, waiting to be picked by a working class man.
"You'll die in the class you were born" I had heard this depressing slogan all over the news, young lads and girls screaming to the camera. "No future"
Now that I think of it the flames were growing into the classes, and the fire was to begin really soon. London would be burning in months, maybe a year, but the fury was waking from its kip.
Still when we moved I was young, and I was Au fait to the highest class. I couldn't get how had we got so gutted. No one ver explained to me, but It did not took me long to realize it was all on my dad. He used to have a company of fuck knows what, and I had read about its fall on the paper. So now we had gone down, what on earth could be our class?
Our gaff was on Hartley's road, number 56. It was just a Suburbia place. My room was on the second floor facing the yard. The life seemed dull around, the place remained static. The cars went on and on, and the one big road was Windmill.
We stepped down the cab, with all our stuff. Putting the suitcases and bag packs on the pavement. The bricked gaff was big enough for us, right in the centre of the street. As if we had been erased fromt eh map, I turned my sight to the left side and found thousand identical houses, I veered my eyes to the right side, thousand homes burning in boredom.
And I still missed auntie's I didn't got to say a decent goodbye, but I was planning on going back.
Few districts to the north, there was the city, we were not out of London, just exiled from our section, from our class.
"Mum?" My words were trembling and my mouth felt numb, but it was time to put paid to it, I had to know.
"Yes Gwen?" She had calmed down, her tone remained cold from that day on but she was not gonna shout anymore, not that she had the intention to ask for an apology.
"Dad lost his work right?, and, and we moved, so are we working class?" It took her some seconds to process the info, and she stared at me in horror. I had never seen her so hurt and conflicted in my life as when she nodded and turned around.
Dad turned the key around and pushed away the door. With a clack, we entered our home, It was to be our place for the rest of our sad lives, or at least for as long as I remained there. I walked into the place, it already had furniture but it wasn't ours. The gaff was jolly small, no lobby, no dressing gowns, no great entrance hall.
The living room was next to the door, to the right a thin hall led tot he kitchen, the stairs were at plain view by the living room. There was a small study on the back. Three rooms upstairs, and the attic. My room had no balcony, and my bed was not mine. A regular wooden bed, the closet had just enough room for my jacket, and some dresses.
Then I turned to discover I had no couch, no carpet, no coffee table, and a horrid night stand. I threw myself to the bed mentally zonked and unprepared for this life. I could hear the row of the cars down the road. My mind spit all over my luck, and the lack of furniture. I wasn't a whinger but buried my face on the pillow and screamed.
I had to go back to Will's. I never knew when but I fell asleep, wasn't a kip, more like a rush into the night. For soon I was to learn what the working class meant, and what night meant to them.
"Richard don't you see, this is a bandits hole!! I went down the store, and the employee is an Irish!! What are we gonna do about this people?" My mums desperate questions woke me up, in the raising night.
"Dear you very well know we can't do anything, we are gonna adjust to this filth. We wont let her mix up with them. That scum will not penetrate this house and you'll see very soon we will find our way back, just be patient!" I slide myself down the blankets and hit the floor, rolled around and got on my feet, a second later I was on with the door. My fathers voice was as uneasy as my moms. Their argument was so silly I wanted to slag them off.
When I heard it. There was a knock on the door, and Richard answered through the window.
I was watching by the stairs, It was a black boy saying something about being neighbors but, that's when I heard it.
"Go straight to hell boy!"