Saturday Night Sunday Morning

I finished work on Saturday at 9pm. My girlfriend’s out of town so I decide to go to the pub. It’s been a long boring shift, I need some whisky.

The tube gives me a headache so I jump off at Knightsbridge and catch one of the last remaining Routemasters. The bus growls through the west end.

Eventually I alight. The pub is packed the jukebox plays Hendrix. I can’t see anyone I know so I drink alone.

Eventually I find my brother (he’s a barman) pulling pints in the downstairs bar. I stay for the late bar. I talk to some other regulars, though mostly I stand by myself.

Soon the night ends. I walk home. A police van whizzes past then stops, the reverse light comes on, are they about to harass me? No, they change their minds and drive off.

A fella walking past asks if I could lend him the bus fare to Stoke Newington. I would give it happily but I have no money left.

I pass another pub that is playing Hi NRG, two women are arguing with the bored looking bouncers.

I get home, I feel a bit sick from the drink. The TV will be my only company and it’s a lousy friend.

I spend most of Sunday intermittently watching Quincy, browsing the net and sleeping.
I leave for a nightshift at 9 o’clock. I feel shitty on the way to work, my body clock feels like it’s been whacked with a hammer. Oh well it pays the rent.