How To Be Deep

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.

Foosted Wotsit Head is Running Scared

I went looking for Foosted Wotsit head today because I was supposed to be taking him to a hypnotist to find out about his violent dreams involving my missing brother but he was also no where to be found. I asked around and the last anyone saw him he was wandering around Sailor Town telling people that he needed a ride out of town, and some fat bastard truck driver apparently gave him a ride to Lisburn and no one's heard from him since.

Battle Cat was also out enjoying woofing and pissing and shitting in the Lagan Meadows when a man told me he'd arrest me for it, it was a big hard lump of shite so I kicked it in the Lagan. He said that would do no good that he'd be fining me for this. I told him if he was going to fine me I was going to let Battle Cat bite people and said he'd have the dog put down. I asked him if he'd like to be my friend because the only reason he could be such a wanker was if no one had ever been his friend and he said that he had all the friends he needed, he just liked being good at his job and I told him that I believed in civil disobedience and that if he wanted to give me a fine he didn't know my name or address and if he followed me home I'd have no choice but to follow him home and he'd not want me knowing where he lived because he wouldn't sleep a wink at night and for good reason and that I'd put a rat in his letter box or a poisonous snake in the middle of the night and he'd need to use his commission from the fine to pay to get ride of them or ask a friend to suck the poison out of his ball bag when the fucking thing bit him mutherfucker.

He walked away in tears. I shouted fuck the system but then I realised he might have called the cops and I ran like a mutherfucker.

We all have friends who have other friends we've never met. When you're living with a friend you get to meet a lot more of their friends than usual. Today was the first time this happened with Fabian Wildman.

After Battle Cat had been fed and walked and cleaned up after we had a knock at the door. I snuck upstairs to look out the bedroom window in case it was the TV man but it was some guy with a huge ginger afro. I went downstairs and asked Fabian Wildman if he knew who it was.

Fabian said that it would be Hot Baby Roy.

I opened the door, and indeed he said he was here to smoke crack with Fabian Wildman. I told him to get the fuck in because I didn't want the neighbours hearing.

Once inside he pulls out this piece of pipping and after unscrewing it and putting it back together it's now magically a funky crack pipe.

"I'm Tuesday Kid, by the way," I say to him. "This is my house."
"That's cool hot baby," he says. "Hot Baby Roy gonna get you high."
He's got a bare chest and a big fur coat and flares that make him look like a white Sly Stone.
We go into the livingroom and sit smoking crack while listening to Sly and The Family Stone on Fabian Wildman's vinyl player (at Hot Baby Roy's request).
Hot Baby Roy starts talking about how he wants to get a pet baboon.
Even when I'm high this sounds fucking stupid and I tell him so.
"No hot baby sure Buck Alec used to walk around Sailor Town back in the thirties with his pet lion. If he can have something cool why not Hot Baby Roy?"
I thought this sounded like balls but I googled him later and found out he really did.

Here's a photo of him (but no lion).
I tell him about Battle Cat and how he's going to be a big violent dog someday but for now he's just a puppy.
"Hot Baby Roy don't dig on violence," he says, and he doesn't say anything more until he has to go.
Fabian's kind of funny with me the rest of the day.
"You know I'm happy for you to have people over," I say to him when we're having a smoke later on in the living room. "But I don't want this house turning into a crack den."
"You sound just like The Death Owl," he says resentfully, as he sulks off into the corner and sticks his headphones on.
He's lucky I don't fuck him out on his ear for saying that but I'll let it slide; he's just high.