Stop Me and Buy One (2/2) continued By Joe Hakim

(1/2), (2/2),

We walk past LA's. By the way, would you like any business luv? she asks. Nah, I say. I'm okay, thanks anyway. Sorry, I have to ask, she says. She looks me up and down. I guess a guy like you doesn't have to pay for sex. In an emotional sense, I say, I'm still paying for some.

We reach the top of Spring Bank. I guess you take a lot of shit in your line of work, see some crazy stuff. It's not always bad. It's like anythin', yer just get on with it. Yer can earn a shit load of money on a good day. Really? Yeah. Some weekends I can earn up to six hundred quid, she says. Jeezus, I say. I think I'm in the wrong line of work. I just wish I could hang on to it though. What do you mean? I ask. Most of it goes on crack, she says, and her voice trails off. Oh, right. There's a lot of it going about Hull then? You wun't fuckin' believe. The police can do Operation Target or whatever the fuck they want but they'll never get rid of it all. It's 'ere to stay.

We pass a take-away. A gang of young lads are shouting and munching on kebabs. Six hundred quid...that's a lot of money to spend on gear, I say. I know, I know. I din't used to be that bad, but just lately, I feel like the pipe's stuck to me mouth, I just can't get enough of the shit, she says, sighing. I never thought I'd say it, but I wish I'd stayed on the smack.

Have you ever thought of getting off it, getting out, doing something else? Yeah. I've got a daughter, and I wanna sort mesen out for 'er. She lives with me mother. I see her every now and then, but I can't 'ave 'er seein' me like this. I don't want 'er growin' up around all this...shit. I wanna get cleaned up for 'er sake, so she can come back and live with me. What would you like to do instead? You might not believe me, but I'd like to be a counsellor or summat. I'd like to stop young lasses from gettin' caught up in this kinda life. Catch 'em early while they still got a chance. Catch 'em before they turn into me.

Then why don't you do it? Get yourself on a course or something. I will, but it's not as easy as that...I just need to get through Christmas. If I can make it through Chrimbo, then I'll get me shit together in the new year. I mean, I'm only twenty-nine for fuck's sake! Look at me. I fucked me face and skin up with all the speed I used to take when I was a teenager. I'm genuinely shocked. I look at her again, burnt out and used up before she's even hit thirty, and I feel completely useless. There's nothing I can do or say to help her. Any attempt would look like the trite and meaningless ramblings of a community worker or some other shit. I don't have any answers or solutions; all I can offer her is another cigarette. It's not much, but it's something.

It's just 'ard, y'know? she says. I feel like I'm always fightin' summat, but I don't know what it is. Just lately I've 'ad this feelin' like summat's gonna 'appen. I don't what it is, and I don't know when it's gonna 'appen, but it's like I'm standin' on the edge of summat. I think a lot of people feel like that. We're all desperate. The world's turning into a drooling idiot and we can all feel the tremors, the seizures. We're just feeling them in different ways. I dunno quite what yer mean, but I'm sure yer right, she says. She stops walking. Right, this is me. Look, I'm gonna go and score some shit before I go 'ome. Do yer fancy comin' for a smoke? I won't 'assle yer for any business or owt, 'onest.

For a minute I'm tempted, if only so I can experience it all first hand and write a better story. But my life is fucked up enough without throwing a crack habit into the equation. Picture me a year from now stood at the bar in a well known drinking establishment in the town centre, pipe in hand, lighting up and assuring my friends: Chill out it's under control people, it's just recreational habit.

Nah, I better get off. It was nice talking to you, I say. What's your name by the way? It's Michelle. See ya later. Take care, I say. She walks across the road. When she reaches the other side, she turns around and waves. Stood there in her duffel coat, hood up, I'm suddenly reminded of Donald Sutherland and the freaky midget in the last scene of Don't Look Now. I wave back and begin the walk home. It's still raining, and I'm still soaked, but it doesn't matter. Nothing does.

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