5 posts tagged “smoking”

That's it. We're all going to prison for murder. I'm going to be put in a cell with some large, butch lesbionic-type woman named "Chuck" and she's going to make me her plaything. Poor Bert. He looks like a woman half the time as it is! He won't last a second in prison!

And it's all Elle's fault.

"Great," I said, putting a hand on my jutted out hip. "Just great. You've just gone and ruined my day."

Bert frowned. "Uhhh... I think that guy's day is going a little worse... as he's dead now."

Elle just rolled her eyes. "He's not dead. See?" She propped him up against the stove and waved his hand around like some kind of ventriloquist. She even dared make a Monty Python reference, using a different voice and speaking from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not yet dead! I think I'll go for a walk!"

I glared at her. "Bugger off, Elle. That's not even funny."

Bert snickered. "...Well, it was a bit funny-"

I gave him a stern look. He stopped snickering.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, glancing from Elle to Bert. "What are we going to do?!"

Elle grinned. "Stuff him into Bernard's trash bin and call the police?"

Possibly...

"No!" I exclaimed. "That would make things worse, not better."

Elle knelt down to get a closer look at our newly-bludgeoned corpse friend. Then, without notice, she reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, a silver flask and a pack of fags. She tossed the fags at me, gave the wallet to Bert and  kept the flask for herself.

She pointed at me. "You. Go smoke. You always think better when you're calmed down." She nodded at Bert. "You go give Fran some cash, as we'll likely need to use her new car for a few minutes."

"...Well," he said, "what are you going to do with the flask?"

"Get stinking pissed." She unscrewed the cap and took a swig. She winced as the taste hit the bank of her throat. "Water!" she exclaimed. "Are you fucking kidding me?!?!" She grabbed the wallet back from Bert, grabbed a tenner, threw the wallet on the floor and stormed out. I can only assume she was heading to the pub down the street.

I was on the verge of tears. I'd never been involved in a murder before... Well, once before but I didn't feel so guilty the last time. This man was innocent, just doing his job. And Elle killed him.

...Maybe Bert and I wouldn't have to go to prison for something Elle did...?

No. She's your sister. You can't just turn her in!

Bert grabbed a fag from me, rummaged around in the cupboard for some matches and lit up. I think he thought having a fag might calm his nerves. He ended up puking into the sink.

"Bert, honey, this would not be a good time to take up smoking for the first time."

He wiped his mouth. "I believe you're right."

I lit up and blew smoke up into the air above my head. "Bert," I said. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to turn ourselves in. Or, rather, Elle," he said. "It's the only way."

Perhaps he had a point.

So I’ve let her stay longer than promised.  I can't help it; she is my sister after all.

She's been at her mates all week, trying to get them to let her stay with them. Oddly enough, they all work and live in SoHo.  I'm pretty sure they all work at gentlemen's clubs...if you get my drift. 

Bert didn't.  But he's a guy.  He will be forgiven, eventually.

I couldn't sleep last night, due to Bert's snoring (no matter what I do, I can't block out the sound; I even considered smothering him with his pillow the other night) and Elise screaming about killing Tom and "sodding men." (I'm quite positive dementia runs in the family.) 

Anyroad.

I snuck downstairs into the kitchen to find my fags (in the dark), only to find that Elise had calmed down and was sleeping soundly (just as soundly as Bert was snoring).  I noticed something was tucked into the crook of her arm, so thinking they were my fags, I went to grab them.  When I pulled it away I realised it was Elise's sock monkey, Lancelot.  I held him out at arm's length in the moonlight to take a look at the face of evil.  Well, not really, it's just that Lancelot didn't like me when we were younger, or my sock monkey, for that matter.  With his lopsided grin smugly staring at me, I tucked him in under the blankets next to Elise. 

Sockmonkey

I reached for my fags (which were actually on the table where I had left them), and went back upstairs.  I plucked my monkey from the highest shelf of my bookcase and headed back down, hugging him to my side.

I slipped out the front door and out onto the sidewalk.  Breathing in the night air, and taking in my silent surroundings, I sat down on the curb, my monkey in my lap, and lit a fag.

"Poor Yorick," I said to him, turning him to get a better look at him.  So sue me.  When your da's a professor of English Literatures, you happen to know and or pick up odd things like naming your sock monkey "Yorick" when you're five.  It happens.

As I was sitting there on the curb in my jammies, one-armed hugging my childhood friend and smoking, I heard someone making a raucous, as they made their way up the street.  I was a little bit scared, thinking it was Jack the Stripper again, but it actually turned out to be Bernard Black.

He was singing about cows.

Only him.

He did notice me though.  But he didn't really know who I was was.

"You! You," he began as he stumbled across the street.  He yammered on about a party and wicker baskets.  The he said, "Wanna'drink?"

"Ahh, you don't like me."

"Who're you again?"

"Umm...Michelle Brown."

"O'course I like you! Why wouldn' I?"

"No reason."

"I'm a big cow...," he began to sing again, forgetting me and teetering back over to his shop.

Sighing, I went back to smoking and hugging my sock monkey and reflecting on how pathetic my life really was.

Christ I need a boyfriend. 

Maybe I should ring Evan...NO. Hold that thought, Elle. 

Hold that thought and strangle it.  NEVER, EVER think of Evan again.  EVER.

I spent most of today mopping around the shop.  Elise beat me over the head with Lancelot (like she used to) and then suggested we go clubbing tonight, as she eyed Bert's new PVC mini skirt warily. 

Honestly, even Mary Quant herself might be shocked at how mini his skirt was.

But, clubbing?  I haven't gone in ages.

"It'll be fun, Ellie." 

I can hardly wait.

I've set a new world record: Two evictions in two days.

As it would turn out, Bernard didn't know a thing about me staying there. I knew it. I blood well knew it.

Elle tore herself away from her new fancy tranny man long enough to suggest that I stay with Mom and Dad.

I smiled sweetly and told her that I'd rather rip my toe nails out. Or, rather, her toe nails. She just laughed. Great. Flirting with a transvestite, drinking at half ten in the morning and chain smoking in the shop. She calls me a tramp and a tart and everything - but she is less than a classy woman, honestly.

Well, whatever. I can't stay at the shop because Tranny Man is in my room. That's right- my room! I can't stay at Black Books because Bernard refused to let me stay. Plus, he scares me. Anyway, nobody from that crowd is around. Manny and Bernard are house-sitting while some creep in a powder blue suit cleans the shop for them. Fran is on a date with that lovely bloke- Ben, I think she said his name was.

And I'm still homeless.

Elle ordered me to stop moping about not having a home. She made me a deal: I could sleep on the shop sofa for the night if I put in some hours at the shop. Having no other choice, I agreed.

At least I have a bed to sleep in tonight. Well, not so much a bed as an old worn-out, mouth-eaten couch that still has the stain from where Auntie Madge pissed. I missed my dear old auntie, weak bladder and all.

Earlier this afternoon, Tranny Man (also called "Bert", apparently- possibly short for "Bertha"?) tried to be all nice and apologize for the mix-up. On closer inspection, he really is quite fit and nice-looking. No wonder Elle wants to shag him. 

Everything is always my fault.

Now Elise is blaming me for making her move out.  She could have actually told me that all her stuff was in the spare room.  Did she?  Nope.  Typical Elise.

She happily helped Bert move all of his stuff up to the room and to put her stuff in the hall while still completely smashed.

Then she passed out in the kitchen.

After she woke up, she went upstairs to find all of her stuff in the hall, blaming me for throwing her out to let a tranny take over the room.  She threw a stromp like a child and tried ringing up all of her "mates" to try to get them to let her crash at their flats.  She yelled at me a lot, calling me the worst sister, "No, not sister!  SHREW!"  I might be a bad sister, but I'm not an "uncaring shrew."  I told her she could have my room, but she replied, "I'm not sleeping in your grotty ol' shrewwy bed! Twat!" before running outside with to stand in the pissing rain like a git.

"I can find somewhere else to go," Bert offered.

I didn't want him to.  I feel terrible, but I convinced him to stay. I need mates too.  Soon enough the hippie came back.  I've found out that he works with that dirty git Bernard.  After talking to him for a while outside, Elise came storming in, pushed me out of the way, and began to lug her boxes downstairs and out the door.

"Elise don't go!  You can sleep on the kitchen sofa!"  Bad call.

"HA! I'd rather live in a box, Elle!"  Why does she always say my name in contempt?

"Fine!  I'll dig one out of the dust bin for you!"  That went well.

"Do you think she'll be coming back?"

"Get stuffed Bert."

I found out the next day, she was staying at Black Books.  Traitorous slime of the earth.

I marched across the street and threw the door open.  Bernard was drooling all over a pile of books, while customers milled about him.  The hippie entered the store via a curtain at the back, saw me, freaked and darted back behind the curtain.  I called after him and ran through the curtain. I had entered and extremely grubby kitchen where I found the hippie hiding under the table.

"Who are you?" I asked looking under the table.

"Ma-Manny."

"Where's my sister?"

"Upstairs."

"Go get her.  Now."

He nodded and darted out from under the table and up that stairs.  He's pretty fast for a hippie.

That's when the curtain was flung open behind me.

"You!"

I turned around to be face-to-face (again) with Bernard Black.

"Wha'are you doin' in my shop?!"

"I'm getting my sister."

"Wha's she doin' here?!"

"Ask Manny."

"Manny! MANNY!" he yelled in my face.  Manny came hurtling down the stairs (sans sister).

"Yes Bernard?"

"Wha's her sister doin' in my shop?!"

"She's staying here - "

"Oh no she's not!"

"Why hasn't she come down?" I asked.  Manny sighed.

"She said she hates you; go die; and to tell you to piss off."

"ELISE!"  I really didn't get to find out how effective screaming her name was because Bernard grabbed ahold of my arms and drug me out through the shop to throw me out the door and onto the sidewalk, screaming at him and Elise.

He yelled at bit at me and then finally gave up and went back inside.  Fran came strutting down the street and helped me up.

"You really should just stay out," she told me.

"I think he does on purpose!  He's sick and twisted and wants me to come into his shop just so he can throw me out!"  Alright, I was a little smashed.  But just a little.  Fran looked at me oddly, shook her head and went into the shop, as I headed back home.

Later I sat at the desk, thinking and smoking.  It felt good.  If Elise can drink in the shop, I can bloody well smoke in it!

"Are you alright?" Bert asked me, bending down to look me in the face.

"Yeh, I'm fine. Just fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"One more question."

"Lay it on me."

"Do you normally smoke four fags at a time?"

I have no sister.

For all these years, I thought I had a sister. But apparently, I was very mistaken.

That person who I thought was my sister is actually a heartless, uncaring shrew. This shrew has also just told me that the room- the room that I just assumed was going to be mine- I slept in last night is no longer mine. The shrew put out an ad for the room and some skirt-wearing, comedy-performing, Eddie Izzard-loving tranny answered it. In fact, his stuff is already in the room while mine is out in the hall, waiting to be moved.

Fantastic.

Now. Not only do I not have a sister, I guess I don't have any friends either. I called up all my mates and not one of them has a spare room I can stay in or sofa I can sleep on. Well, sod it. I don't need mates and I definitely don't need a sister.

While Elle The Shrew was chatting flirting with her oddly attractive new roommate, I stole one of Elle's fags from the desk and went outside, in the pouring rain, to be alone. I hadn't smoked in two and a half years. I had never been truly homeless before. Ugh. All homeless people looked so unnattractive.

I dropped the cigarette butt onto the ground and put it out with my heel. It was just then that Manny from Black Books approached me. He forced his eyes to meet mine.

"Hello," he said, speaking towards the ground. "How-how-how are you doing?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Fine." And how are things going on Planet Zargon?

He peered passed me into the open door of the shop. "What's Elise doing talking to that transvestite?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's Elle. I'm Elise." I frowned. "For God sake, we don't even look alike."

Manny laughed awkwardly. "Right. I was just... I was just kidding, y'know." He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets again.

"Right," I said. "That's Bert. He's stealing my bedroom from me. I've been evicted by my own sister. Nice, huh?"

Manny pretended to be extremely interested and concerned, furrowing his eyebrows in a "I'm-extremely-interested" sort of way and crossed his arms in a "I'm-very-concerned" sort of way. "Well, where are you going to stay?"

"I expect in an alley somewhere." I shrugged. "If I'm lucky, some rat will bite me and I'll die of rabies."

Manny winced in thought. "You could stay at Black Books." His eyes widened as soon as the words escaped his lips. He probably hadn't thought it through very well.

But I jumped at the opportunity. A place to stay was a place to stay.

"Really?" I said. "I mean, that would be fab. It wouldn't be for very long, just until I find another flat somewhere." I smiled at him, that strange-looking man. "I really appreciate this, Manny."

His cheeks turned pink. "It's no problem, really."

I bit my lip. "Bernard won't mind, will he?"

Manny's eyes widened again. "Uh... I'm sure it'll be fine... Just, um, gimme a minute. I'll go clear it with him and we can start moving your stuff over. Alright?" He seemed less than confident in this venture but I didn't dare question his methods. I wasn't in the mood to be abducted by the mother-ship.

I went back inside and started lugging my stuff downstairs so it would all be ready for Manny when he got back. I watched out the front windows, trying to see what was going on over at Black Books. However, the piles of books in front of their store windows made that generally impossible. Manny didn't come back for about half an hour, but when he did came back over, he seemed more chipper than ever.

"Alright," he said, a little hop in his step. "We can bring your stuff over now."

"Bernard was okay with me staying then?"

Manny hesitated. "Uh... Yes! He said it's fine. Come to think of it, he'd like you to stay as long as you like!" He chuckled awkwardly and picked up the largest of the boxes, only to drop it right back down again, directly onto his foot.

It only minutes later that I discovered Bernard Black passed out, his face buried in an old book on his desk, a puddle of drool surrounding his mouth. I grimaced and followed Manny upstairs to my new bedroom. It was fine enough, small but tidy. It then dawned on me- my new bedroom was actually Manny's old bedroom.

"Well, Manny," I said. "Where are you going to sleep?"

Manny shrugged. "I'll just push some chairs together in the kitchen." He bid me good night and left me alone.

As I lay awake in Manny's bed (God. Never thought I'd say that... at least, not this soon, anyway.), staring at the wall, knowing that I would be evicted from this house in the morning- not by Manny, but by Bernard. I knew full-well that he had agreed to nothing.

This is all Tom's fault. I'd still be with Mark if he hadn't opened his big fat gob and told him that we'd slept together.

Sodding men.