11:15 Oxford Road

‘Caaame ern girls, letz sink a song,’ the fat Queen singer from earlier says to the goths. Timidly but friendly dey chat back, doing as little as possible to encourage ‘im. I squeeze me eyes shut.

I dunno what’s in the packets I carry and I don’t care much. I tell me friends I’m carrying severed ears back to rival gangs to wind ‘em up, but I reckon it’s just drugs. Maybe guns. That’d bother me a little. That’s a whole different ballgame tha. But no chance of being caught, who’s gonna fuckin check? No one gives a fuck about people on trains. Specially not a midnight inter-regional service through the North West of Fucking England.

I could be carryin a fuckin’ bomb and I wouldn’t know to be honest. If tha went off it would cause a bit of a ruckus, but not tha much, this isn’t the London Underground. It’s unlikely anywey, the terrorists just wouldn’t botha. They’re smart them guys in Al-Qaeda; they know where the power is, how to strike at the heart of a country, and it isn’t Newton-Le-Willows.

We’re into Merseyside now, nerlee home. It’s hard to tell tho, all these little towns are almost indistinguishable in the dark, ‘cept the stations now carry the yellow and grey M of Merseyside Transport Authority, rather than the red and grey M of Manchester Transport Authority. Vive la difference eh.

Me head’s tryna to do its own forced shutdown. I draw me collar up past me face as far as possible to try’n block out the world. What am I doing on this fucking train eh, where did it all go so wrong?

A sudden jolt and the sound of metal grindin’ violently on metal startles me awake, I go onto instinctive alert and glance round. The carriage is now empty apart from meself. Good. Then I notice a thin stream of spittle encrusted on me chin and I wipe it away with a tinge of embarrassment. I look out the window to see where we are, but apart from the darkness there’s only a constant line of orange-red lights that reveal little. Still, we must be near Edge Hill now. Almost home and no conductor, my decision not to purchase a ticket was clearlee a wise one.

I always get off at Edge Hill, which is local parlance by the way, for, Coitus Interuptus – last stop before the terminus see. No chance at all then of being stopped and asked what I’m carryin’ there. Now and then dey do have dogs at Lime Street.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6



One Response to “11:15 Oxford Road”

  1. January 04, 2012 at 9:25 pm, 11:15 Oxford Road « Kenn Taylor said:

    […] This story appeared on the website Rainy City Stories. […]


Leave a Reply




Via email: