Homecoming
sweat
Mitchell, what do we do now?
----We're going to get her back.
Fucking Lucy, fucking Kemp, fucking weirdo Christian fuckers! I am fucking raging right now! If my heart still could beat it would be having a fucking heart attack.
And there's so much going around and around in my head. I made myself sit in the back seat whilst Nina drove my car back from that deathtrap. I don't know where Daisy is. Daisy can go fuck herself right now. She lost Ivan but we lost Annie. No number of pretentious louche wasters with a penchant for Kate Bush could ever replace her.
And I remember the last things I said to her. I was off my tits, I'm not going to lie. Wiping out a train of commuters...I feel disgusted but there's that urge in my bowels and the back of my head that finds it...there's no words to describe it. Think of the best wank or fuck you've ever had. Take that idea and mix it with all the feelings of being drunk or high and with the warm friendly feeling you get from relaxing with a friend or something, eating pizza and watching The Real Hustle or maybe sitting with a lover and it's all warm and Christmassy with a coal fire - it has to be a coal fire, those electric things are useless. It's all of that times a million. It's like an addiction and to not just satisfy the beast but pollute every inch in your delight...my God there is no better feeling.
George should be driving. No, Fuck it. I should be driving, it's my car and Nina with all the will in the world keeps stalling the fucking thing. I don't know whether it's due to nerves to nearly being killed by crazy monsters or because she's back with George or even that she's just shit at driving for some reason or another but she keeps stalling and it's breaking my heart.
Metaphorically of course.
And then the house swims up in view and I feel sick. It's down in my bowels and every inch of me is sore. It's like my blood's diseased. I know I want a shower or a bath or...or even a fucking shot of Dettol to feel clean again.It's under my skin and I can't stand it. And I feel it rising. It's cold but I have a veneer of sweat on my face.
"Mitchell." George says simply. I stare at him.His voice isn't demanding, George couldn't demand anything to save his life, but it makes me itch.
And we stare at that pink house and it's no longer home.
----We're going to get her back.
Fucking Lucy, fucking Kemp, fucking weirdo Christian fuckers! I am fucking raging right now! If my heart still could beat it would be having a fucking heart attack.
And there's so much going around and around in my head. I made myself sit in the back seat whilst Nina drove my car back from that deathtrap. I don't know where Daisy is. Daisy can go fuck herself right now. She lost Ivan but we lost Annie. No number of pretentious louche wasters with a penchant for Kate Bush could ever replace her.
And I remember the last things I said to her. I was off my tits, I'm not going to lie. Wiping out a train of commuters...I feel disgusted but there's that urge in my bowels and the back of my head that finds it...there's no words to describe it. Think of the best wank or fuck you've ever had. Take that idea and mix it with all the feelings of being drunk or high and with the warm friendly feeling you get from relaxing with a friend or something, eating pizza and watching The Real Hustle or maybe sitting with a lover and it's all warm and Christmassy with a coal fire - it has to be a coal fire, those electric things are useless. It's all of that times a million. It's like an addiction and to not just satisfy the beast but pollute every inch in your delight...my God there is no better feeling.
George should be driving. No, Fuck it. I should be driving, it's my car and Nina with all the will in the world keeps stalling the fucking thing. I don't know whether it's due to nerves to nearly being killed by crazy monsters or because she's back with George or even that she's just shit at driving for some reason or another but she keeps stalling and it's breaking my heart.
Metaphorically of course.
And then the house swims up in view and I feel sick. It's down in my bowels and every inch of me is sore. It's like my blood's diseased. I know I want a shower or a bath or...or even a fucking shot of Dettol to feel clean again.It's under my skin and I can't stand it. And I feel it rising. It's cold but I have a veneer of sweat on my face.
"Mitchell." George says simply. I stare at him.His voice isn't demanding, George couldn't demand anything to save his life, but it makes me itch.
And we stare at that pink house and it's no longer home.