Yea I guess you painted the town. But I can see you twenty years from now
This is a photie of the bus-stop across the road from Les Miserables in London. Cambridge Circus and whatnot. It’s up Charing Cross Road which cuts between Soho and Covent Garden, with Covent Garden politely keeping (still, after all these years) at least one empty seat between the two. The Sex Pistols used to frequent The Spice of Life there, on account of living in Denmark St which is a stone’s throw away.
You see that old bloke with the beard sitting there?
I was once sitting in that exact spot at about 4am, skilfully micro-managing my basic motor-functions in the fizzy embrace of some fairly serious pharmecutical ratbagitude… quietly (and like, not so quietly) grocking the glittering dark… sitting there, chittering and chattering to myself (and to the shadows and lights that came and went) happy, and generally painting the town from the inside. As you do. It was the 90s
Anyway - from across the other side of the road - from the Soho side came this big black bloke, being chased at about 100 miles an hour by this little black bloke, who seemed to be quite cross about something. Big Bloke ran across the road, straight at me - and didn’t stop. He used the big plexiglass advert thing I was leaning against as a spring-board… BAMM, about six inches above my head - “Woah”, I said (impressed)…. he bounced back 180 degrees (ears ringing) and they ran - wide, decreasing circles. It was all incredibly exciting etc.
Eventually the little bloke caught up - middle of Charing Cross road next to this big yellow light thing. He knocked him down with one shot - which was holding a knife… and with big bloke crying (but like, not crying) and fetalling and holding his arms and his hands (making holes in his hands and his arms and his face and everywhere) and his head on and off the pavement, little bloke carried on - stabbed him about 20 times.
“Woah”, I said, still sitting on my forgotten arse at the bus stop. I’d never seen anyone get stabbed before. When little bloke had finally stopped and gone off, Big bloke got to his feet… steadying himself against the yellow light thing… kindof bandy-legged, with blood falling off him like rain.
I think an ambulance came. I can’t remember. The bus might have come. I wasn’t there for the bus. It wasn’t even my bus stop. It was a long time ago, and although I don’t take those sorts of drugs anymore, I’ve been drunk pretty much ever since. Soho has been cleaned up. The time, the place, the people are gone. I have gone. When I think of it now, I still say “Woah”, though quieter now.
