2

"What the fahk's that all about?" exclaims the man as he wanders past me. He's a large man with a shaved head, sporting a giant gold crucifix around his neck. It's hard to tell whether he's a devout Christian, or whether his neck-wear is a handy tool for bludgeoning people with. I'm left pondering his original statement for sometime after the event.
The police are out again, though not helmeted bobby-types. It's full on gear, complete with stab-proof vests for some reason; shopping has an edge here. It's a town which hit the doldrums years ago, but never quite lifted it's spirits enough to make it back out of the gutter...though it's positively excitement filled when compared with its cheese-wagon hosting cousin.

Farther up the high street, various snippets are overheard from a man outside the fried chicken emporium: "Of course, all the shit they think they've got on me, they'd throw away the key...but they can't prove nuffink...and as for her, if she keeps hanging around with that pair, she'll be getting sex from all sides."

"I'm due this week", says another woman, "and Zoe's due a couple of days after that and her mate just after that." Kind of makes you wonder if the conceptions are planned that way, to form an army. They're obviously at home here though, the giant gold earrings, dazzling. At least here, that kind of overstated and less than subtle accessory can be paid off weekly...

1

Towns. They're all different, yet somehow the same. I'm currently living in a small box in the middle of other concrete boxes in a concrete noise. I've been to others and they're not so different. I decided to leave my concrete surroundings and visit others.

So, a few days ago, I found myself in a neighbouring town. I'd not even left the train station and crossed the road when I found myself being stared at. A middle aged man with straggly beard, covered in tattoos stared at me. Not wanting to make eye contact, I glanced away. As he passed me, he touched me on the shoulder and muttered 'Do what you like and don't let them stop you'. An odd greeting, but going further into this place, it all made sense.

I approached the high street. The central hub of a buzzing town, or so you might think. Empty units, charity shops, pound shops...empty units, charity shops, pound shops...and so it goes. When the best thing you can say about a town is 'it's got a Gregg's instead of Bakers Oven', you know you're approaching a smalltown of pure evil. In fact, the whole of this place looks like a post-apocalyptic hell. People wander aimlessly, wonky eyes, big bellies and semi-vacant stares. Vests and gold chains worn like dole-queue uniform and tones of voice grate, between dragging cigarettes. It's been a while since I've been somewhere this bad.

Extreme parenting 101 is in full swing, as a young mum pushes a small girl in a buggy out of a pound shop doorway. "Fuckin' hell!" exclaims the small child in the pushchair. The young mum gives her a whack and says not to swear. The small girl says loudly, 'Don't hit me, don't hit me' and the mum replies: 'Don't shout that, you little dickhead.' Nice. They're probably off for some cheap pies or fried chicken. Or, just maybe, if its a day for a special treat, they'll get a cake from the market stall - a cake that's been sitting out for the flies in the sun, dried out nicely by now. They're certainly not quite classy enough to buy stuff from the cheese wagon. What kind of town has a mobile cheese wagon?!

I've visited hell. Maybe you have too.