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MILES J. BELL
1 in 50 colleagues I liked the way she swore as if everything mattered; her hooded watchful eyes behind spectacles from the fashionable end of economy range; the reptilian quality of her knuckles where eczema flared; the shape of her shoulders which always brought to mind Uncle Fester and her not-quite-fully-erased moustache. We worked the 3-11 shift, screwing caps on bottles of 3-in-1 toilet cleaner, the smell of it stuck in our throats like a bad idea. To her, deep conversation was to talk about ghosts; so we discussed men, the failings of other workers, and the sickest jokes we'd ever heard. Her scattergun mouth made her dismissal just a matter of time. Sure enough the General Manager commented on her standard of work, and was invited to return home and perform an act that sounded reasonably unhygienic and definitely unfeasible. I liked her; she'd made a lot of long hours shorter. Requiem There is a man-sized hole at the base of the monolith. Before I step inside I realise that vertigo also happens looking up. Victoria Mills is listed, and listing through subsidence. It's a race to see if nature or culture razes it first. In there, steps bolted to the walls go nowhere. Missing floors. I wonder what the fine for trespass is. Whole communities of pigeons drop shit 200 feet from broken skylights. You can almost hear the thunder of machines, the grunts of workers - ghosts of industry now forgotten, replaced by graffiti: Becky loves John, between Sing when we're fishing, and Elvis, who presumably has left the building. Fast food emporium shining like fly wings on a rotten hunk of meat The five stars signified only longevity, not competence. Not the brightest light in the firmament, I could tell. She asked her questions, and took my order without once making eye contact, no doubt thinking of tonight's revelry at Flares or where- ever, while she ambled around the greasy floor as if there was all the time in the world to be a nobody. Anything else? Some common courtesy, I said. But since they can't package that yet or combine it with a toy yet and since they can't make it a special offer (just reduce its value) my request served merely to confuse and left her open to the full force of my parting smile which moved across the restaurant at the speed of light. I hurried out not for the first time thinking there's nothing wrong with a fresh green salad. Perfect moment half an orange an enormous pile of dogshit and a bicycle chain on the ground describe a triangle as the green car wheelspins from the kerb and the old man looks over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was about The reality of air travel in an age of panic up; bank - and further then seat belt lights up, go off, and we settle, Up, hoping the next 3 hours 20 minutes pass without incident. This is air travel these days looking at other passengers to determine if they're likely to do anything impressive. I watch the land below turn from brown and green to yellows and reds, until I am drawn into conversation with a man with hairy ears called Nigel, who tells me all about his life as a civil engineer, whatever that is. Yes, air travel these days is usually very dull indeed, except for the takeoff, and of course the landing. Miles J. Bell is 34, married, and lives and works in gritty Northern England. His first chapbook "The finite beat" is released in October and is available from www.blacklodgedistribution.co.uk for a modest fee. He is England's wittiest poor man. His work can be found at www.geocities.com/mjbell_poet/index.html |
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