I went back to work today. Betty Blue wasn't there and neither was Kissy Boy. They were probably at home fucking and getting fucked like rapists in prison.
After work I went into town and bought some spandex. I was walking up Queen St when I came across Rock and Roll Stephen hanging out on the corner with his guitar in his hand.
I asked him what he was doing and he said he was buying some sausage rolls because he was getting ready to walk to Derry. He was saying that Derry was the city of culture and that he was going to walk there with his guitar in hand and get a garret and write some poetry while smoking rollies and walking around drunk and get chicks and feel like a really rock and roll kid. I sniggered a big because I don't think he knows I call him Rock and Roll Stephen.
I told him that The Indie Kid gave me his book of rhymes before he went back to culchie land. And Rock and Roll Stephen's jaw just dropped and he said that The Indie Kid told him he burnt it.
Tears started running down his face and he said after he managed to get control of himself:
"I guess you really were the smoker."
Then he wandered off in the direction of the motorway singing an old out of tune Libertines song.
