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July 04, 2005
This damn do
You walk up the stairs in the morning and put the key in the lock of your cell. You draw the door back and enter. There’s no-one there to say g’morning, there’s no toasted teacake because I got rid of the toasted teacakers. You switch on the grey machines and punch up the daily dialy-boxes and see if anyone’s fishing. You flick the kettle on and make a mug of the black stuff. You rattle around. You work at working. There is no-one to tell you to work, there is no-one expecting you to work. There is no-one who cares one fucking fig whether you work or not.
Only you. Only you drive yourself, only you pick up the pen or the brush or the hammer, only you make the moves to make the money to buy the food to stay alive. Why?
Salford Van Hire call it Self-drive, but it isn't, you're on you're own, you're the one who has to grab the wheel and guide the fucker round the roads..
Posted by john at July 4, 2005 10:08 AM
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