Today I wandered deep into the city and found myself out in some of the wee paths near Sailortown, that's a part of town that they're really just waiting to bulldoze. It makes me sad to be there. I went over to the Tomb St carpark and found some street kids (street-wise not tramps). I asked them if any of them knew The Unicorn Girl and if they could tell me where she lived. I told them I'd hang out on the corner of her street at the cool phonebox calling up her cell phone and waiting. I'd let it ring for ages and if it went to answerphone I'd call her back and tell her that I've a bottle of raspberry wine that I can't drink on my own so if she could just call me back I'll wait here by the phone.
They didn't say anything for ages until one of them said they didn't know her number but that I'd just broke their ideas of derilict romanticism that they find in American soft-alt-rock lyrics.
I told them to party down and go fuck themselves.
They said that they knew her and that they thought she wasn't so keen on people like me. I asked them what they meant and they said that she was trying to get rid of that dick Clarence Pishflap who hung around her like a bad smell with a bad smell and that me and all that crackhead scruffbag gang was something she wanted to move away from. They said that she used to hang out with them all the time but that now it's only really twice a week. They said that soon she was going to start dressing sharper and drinking in fancy winebars and not in some shitty street carpark and that if I wanted to get with her I could sharpen myself up and meet her somewhere nice. But not here, here I was just going to the top of the list of things she wants to leave behind her when she starts a new phase of her life.
I told the guy he was seriously fucking deep, and he said that deep is one thing but holes in your shoes is another.
