East End Tales.

Cold rain was sticking to my face; maybe it was trying to wash my bad make up which made me look like a lovechild of Joker and Alice Cooper or maybe it was trying to wake me up from a trance. Joy Division’s She’s lost control was blasting out of my earphones and I wondered whether I had lost my control too. It seemed so, after all it was close to midnight and I was walking down the Duke street. But I do not recall the last time my mind was so clear and words were pouring out of nowhere and here, in this place I found my inspiration.

East End is so different from a glamorous city center and it does not have this magic that hides in narrow streets of West End. It’s dirty, full of kitsch and drug dealers but it’s so raw and beautiful it hurts. It’s real and unpretentious. Cynics and nihilists are welcomed here and obnoxiousness is as common as cans of Irn Bru scattered across the pavement. If I was a believer I would swear to God that this place makes me feel as if I am one of the kids from Tony Parsons’ Stories we could tell.

But I am not. It’s time to tell my own story.

A dodgy looking dude with a bucket hat passed me and I smiled as I thought he must be using cologne Weed no.5. Wow I am so hilarious. He did not stab me and instead he started dancing, I wondered what vivid images he was seeing and what music was the soundtrack for his little dance. Perhaps it was a rain dance? Who the hell knows.I should not romanticize junkies.

This street is my Amsterdam. And the hookers are much much cheaper here.

I guess the guy with black VW polo and distinct Eastern European accent who stopped and told me that he was looking for a girlfriend knew the tariff too. Fuck no I said and he drove off into the night. Ahh I should stop romanticizing perverts as well. He drove to the nearest club. It’s Friday. Girls are easy on Friday.

I talked to an old friend today. I said thing we both were thinking but neither could say them out loud. It felt good. Sure, I haven’t yet said some other things; that I am sorry and ask whether the friend was sorry too. But it felt so raw and real, like the part of the city we are living now. Are

I finally feel like myself again.

 

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