In a damp, vomit infested corner of Camden town, the flickering dim lit lamppost gave a creeping grotesque shadow of the zigzagging gait of a known local, Michael, but impressively well balancing the empty vodka bottle on his left and the cigarettes’ unfurling smoke on other hand. He swore as he thought he stepped onto a frozen rodent. He mightily kicked it to find out that it was just an empty soda can but caused him to land, thankfully, in the scavenged black bag. He would have sworn until morning as he dusted off himself but his eyes gleamed to the red glass door where the empty soda can landed. He squinted to the neon-enblazoned name of the pub, that said: “Gracias!”. He halfly smiled as he totally gathered his recollection of the place. Rich jazz music escaping through the pub’s torn-rusted and scaffolded part that somehow sparked off energy through his dilapidated boots and walked militantly through the doorstep but scowled as he pushed the door open, ” who’s playing it?”.
The barman drying up the glasses and at the same time talking to his phone clamped between his neck and shoulder blade nodded upon seeing Michael. The latter straightened his faded brown jacket as he grabbed a bar seat. The former greeted him with a grin that accentuate his distinguishing mole on his left cheek.” Just One lagger, my friend, and that’s it, huh, Michael.” reassuringly said with a rich Spanish accent. ” For you, i’ ll do my best, Amigo!”
A quick slurped and licking the overflowing froth, Michael was caught by the old Jewish man’s pupil-free eyes and beardy face portrait by the wall, stared for a seconds then winked and raised his glass. ” cheers!” Then turned to the barman. ” hey, amigo…who’s playing?
Barman: ( who’s still staring at the group of gothic-dressed girls laughing outside by the glass door) , ” That’s Charlie… How come you’ve forgotten it?”
Michael: “Oh yeah…sure…sure. (Humming then singing), ‘Somewhere, beyond the sea she’s…she’s (paused)there watching for me..(hick)..(paused) closing his eyes, shaking
Barman: ” Mr. Paton, please don’ t start it… for favor, ok?”
Michael: ” oh yeah… Now who’s talking. Mi papa. Sorry pop. ” then he tapped the barman’s shoulder to apologise and signalled to come closer as if to whisper something. The barman leaned over and Michael grabbed the other back rest seat as he starting to sense a mild tingling on his knees from the fall earlier on then with his dominant right hand he held hardly the barman’s shoulder and jumped up to the stage and managed to grasp the musician’s trumpet. But with the increasing knee pain and unsteady standing balance he toppled over and fell…(again!).
The next few seconds he found himself lying on the floor, the excruciating numbness on his feet were almost nonexistent to keep his eyes paying attention to the three policemen. Naked!? …”What?!” he said but no words came out from his mouth. He shook his head that maybe it’s just an experimented gimmick to bizarrely patronise a british culture in a financially struggling spanish pub, hence ,a Full Monty Show intermission number. But hey, I shook my head three, four, …eight times …still these union-jack law-enforcers laughing and screaming. They mean business and no- bollocks when i try to look away as they were howling and running like an escapee hooligans breaking and wrecking the place. In his brief gaze of something that glitters on the man’s neck. He seemed the leader of the group, came closer to me and mouthing a word i could hardly figured out. But He’s someone so familiar. Someone who stole home bake brownies hid under his pillow in a rusty hospital bed and shared it when our 12 bedded room gone quiet. Someone i used to chat in a white, Apple computers surrounded cubicle, someone i could joke around in the hallway. Someone i could hold no bar my childhood libidinal adventures and adulthood misadventures. He has this well- trimmed beard that ran from the side of his face, and often he rubbed his chin when he talked. He once told me as we browsed through a celebrity magazine that he’d like to be an actor. A well chiseled body physique with the bushy hair crawling into his chest like a receding vines. He must be that lad with a boyish smile that charmed the old barren rich Jewish couple I shared in a Golder’s green manor seaview country house. Wait he then now leaned over saying another incomprehensible words but i was caught by the glittering chain he’s wearing…it dangled ..i adjusted my head to have a closer look of the chain, and yes it was the platinum chain with the sailor’s anchor pendant. It was exactly the same necklace that our deceased foster parents gave when i graduated valedictorian in High School.
One was making fun of my Marvel-comics-Superhero necktie and it was the other police man, he laughed so hard and with intense gazing he shook his erected penis with his tongue rolling outside. ” surely you want a piece of this, ha?!,”. The dandy one cut him off “not too fast big bro, age go last, always the young-ones has the first bite!”
Flashes of bright green shades illuminated the whole periphery, but something’s moving in the middle, becoming bigger and heavier…