humdrum

rattles of insects and goings on, Rose, is it rats stirring around the corpses under floor boards, or just the shuttling of roaches, something is astir, you will find me in the downstairs, there is a dripdrop pinebox there, cold but comfy, if you should choose to wake me, do it naked,

two

the tiniest sound makes her turn.  For a second he looks truly scared and Luce poises herself to run but he steps back an inch, looks away to the street and experience tells her he’s here on business.  Fly has melded into shadow, always one step ahead.  Luce spins on her heel and heads to the water tank.  Under her coat the bread is cooling, it’s yeasty scent filling the chilled air.

she pulls herself  ivy-clear through the heavy window frame.  A starling that was perched on the door frame alights in fright, flurrying to the sky-light in fear and knocking against the glass.

Luce freezes, listens to the blood echo in her ears, listens to the air shifting.  Acrid burnt-paper scents filter behind the old coat cupboard that blocks most of the doorway leading to the stairs.  She hears everynight sounds outside, the beep of a phone, a door banging.  She feels magic.  Luce silently glides forward -

Carrier

He takes out another cigarette and lights it from the almost finished one in his fingers, tosses the butt to the ground where it skitters into shadows. It is colder than he’d expected and he thinks how he’d hate to be sleeping rough tonight, stands up the collar on his overcoat, leans back against the wall, blowing smoke rings into the electric orange of the city sky.
His phone vibrates against his hip and sliding a hand into a pocket, he moves towards the curb where seconds later a motorbike screeches to a halt, the driver nodding slightly, holding a gloved hand out. He removes a small package, places it in the glove and starts walking quickly towards the harbour, heart banging. It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, it still gives him the shits.
Halfway down Portside he stops, takes in a building to his right, mutters Christ; the flyers, boarded-up windows, neglect, steps round the corner into the side alley where a woman is heading slowly towards him. She stops in her tracks, unnerved, he turns his back on her to indicate he has no interest, pulls out his phone, dials, says I’m outside now, are you sure about this, it’s a dump?

luce

is warm enough, for now.  Matai from La Buca lets her sit and smoke on the bins by the hot air vent.  Sometimes he gives her breadsticks, olives, two meatballs in a saucer. Tonight it was just bread. She could probably exchange sex for a roof over her head, but Luce has learned the hard way. 
Now it’s just her and Fly. They even sleep away from the others now, preferring the low ceilinged loft to the echoing rooms downstairs.  Fly can easily jump from the water tank to the sash window.  She has to share all her food, but the company, the protection is priceless, and he keeps her memories safe in the dark.  She has a full pouch of baccy and even a dry pack of Rizlas today, also Matai left the door open a little too long after dumping a load of tins in the bin, and old habits die hard.  The warm stolen loaf bulges under her coat, infact even the prospect of another night on the old club floor can’t stop her whistling. Fly smiles back at her, tail sweeping through the goose grass.  They can sit in the dark while she smokes and picks the velcro seed-beads from his tail-hair.  They can gorge on bread. 
As they get closer to the building, she notices a smashed ground-floor window.  A reedy smoke froil wisps from the pitch black opening. 

Luce tenses. 

It’s been a long time since he was in these parts and her sharp mind starts racing.

hooks and sideburns

“yeah, it’s me, Rose, old doubledouble. So much for my toil and trouble. Move over, share that fire with me, you old bastard. Maybe we should just burn this place down?”

“They’d have our heads on pikes, but they’d feed us and keep us warm until they did.”

“I could almost go for that.”

“Still havin’ your fits, darlin’?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes I’m okay, sometimes not. I start throwing things and shit. People scream at me and run away. The cops come. I can’t remember anything. I wake up shivering. They took me to that place again, last time. The one I told you about. Did I tell you? You tramps all start to look the same.”

“The place with the hooks and sideburns? Yeah, that was me. Sideburns was some guy, right? And hooks…?”

“Hooks was the other guy, the dark one.”

he coughs,

the smoke curls up and he throws the spit into the fire with a hiss and some apparition appears, some crone, Rose shuffling out of the dark, you again Rose, he says, where have we come to now, with your blind old father, whose turn is it today to offer a little hospitality to the wandering Jew. are we to be lamed wufniks again, again, not knowing, doomed to eternal ignorance of our true purpose,

let it rain, Rose, let it rain the fires of hell on them this time, there will be no mercy here,

until one day it rains, my sweet maryjane,

Driver..

The soft hum of the motor soothed Steve’s burgeoning anxiety, even though he knew the danger in what he was about to do. Tanya lay asleep in the passenger seat, her soft breath upsetting the delicate strands of hair that lay across her placid brow, and her calm seemed ironic due to tonight’s extraordinary circumstances.

Stopped at a red light Steve took time to take Tanya in. Never had he been so lucky in his life. An average Joe, he had never slept with, let alone dated anyone half as gorgeous as Tanya. How he managed to keep her around he had yet to figure out. He was a simple guy, and she was not his normal type. Designer jeans framed her long legs, and her manicured hands splayed in his lap. She was a high society girl and he was a nobody from Queens. What made their relationship even more interesting was that she was paid. Not in the rich daddy sense, but in the rich family sense. She never worked, her parents didn’t work, and their parents didn’t work. She never had to work for a dime, but her heart was as pure as gold.

rose’s name

No one cares about my name though. They care about letting me know how filthy I am. They care about me moving or they’ll call the cops. They must not catch my homelessness. Hurry children. Cross the street to avoid the old, burly woman.

But this thin, shaking man seems to share my sadness – the droop forward in his shoulders, the listless way he wraps his bleeding hand into a small torn piece of velvet.

Maybe he’s like me. Maybe he’ll want to know my name?

the burly woman

flicker, the burly woman, young now, not so burly, hair in a red scarf, pushing a shopping cart past the refrigerated meats, the juices, the milks and yogurts and on past the cheeses, teasing the toddler beside her, mindful of the infant in the seat of the cart. flicker, a shopping cart her decorated house on wheels, (she lives on the porch, under the backsteps… her portable hell, no children, no pets, no car, no partner, a snarl for the motorist yelling at her CRAZY OLD BITCH newspapers, clothes, wads of rags, flags stickers found objects, nameless things (she knows their names) attached to cart

dropping in the street like children lost again she must pick them back up she must she must SHUT THE FUCK UP she yells at the brittle horns, angry cars blaring noise, NOISE

flicker, flicker, flicker, flicker my name is rose, she thinks MY NAME IS ROSE

It’s about time..

“Finally!” she said to the driver as she climbed her slender frame into the massive vehicle. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to do this by myself,” she muttered as she removed white plugs from ears hidden behind long bleached locks. “Do you know what could have happened to me out here?” she continued in her drawl.

“Look, baby I got busy,” the driver said, a glint of anger in eyes that were squinted tightly and bordered by a furrowed brow. “I had some things to take care of. Do you have what we need?”

“Of course I do,” she said, pulling from her couture handbag ten packs of c-notes tightly wrapped together in one big bundle. “I got it right here,” she chuckled, and then leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “No need to worry, you know I always do what I say I am going to do.”

Through the corner of his eye he could see her cross lean long legs and his body ached longingly. He was no longer upset at her histrionics. The sight of her smooth skin forced him to battle instinct, and he kept his hand firmly gripped around the steering wheel. Her heady musk permeated his van and made him lightheaded. He stared at her as she lay her curls on the head rest while glancing out of the window. She hummed a soft tune that battled the music spitting out of his vans speakers and everything was good. But only for this moment.

by cruxandflux