The Burn Read Free Page B

like forty pee, he just
stuck it into his hand, some loose change. What did prostitutes get? what did they get? women, back then, nine year ago. It was probably about five quid if it was a short time; a tenner maybe if it
was all night. That was enough to make anybody greet. But you could spend your life greeting, like his fucking sister. Because that was the thing about it, about life, it was pathetic, you felt
like pressing the destruct button all the time, you kept seeing all these people, ones like the woman, the old dear at the end of the row, plus even himself as a boy, you had to even feel sorry for
him, for himself, when he was a boy, you had to even feel sorry for yourself, yourfuckingself. What a fucking joke. A comedy. Life was a comedy for nearly everybody in the world. You could actually
sympathise with that guy up on the screen. You could, you could sympathise with him. And he was a mass-murderer.
    He glanced at the woman along the row and smiled at her, but then he frowned, he glared. You shouldnt be sympathising with a mass-murderer. You shouldnt. That was that fucking director’s
fault. That happened in his pictures, you started feeling sympathy for fucking murderers. How come it wasnt for the victims. They were the ones that needed it. No the actual perpetrators. That was
probably how she had been greeting, the woman, because of the fucking victims, she was a victim, and that’s who it was happening to, the fucking victims. He wanted to go home, right now, he
wanted out of it, right fucking out of it right fucking now it was a free country and he wanted to get away home for his fucking tea. He glanced along at her, to see what she was doing. She was
still holding the carton of coffee, engrossed in the picture. The old dear as well. It was just him. He was the only one that couldnt concentrate. That was that nowadays, how he never seemed able
to concentrate, it never fucking seemed to work any more, you couldnt blank it out. He kicked his coffee over. It was a mistake. But he was glad he had done it. He wished they had all fucking seen;
it would sort them out, wondering how come he had done it, if it was meant; he got up off the chair and edged his way along to the end of the row, watching he didnt bump into her as he went; she
never so much as glanced at him, then the old dear moving her bags in to let him pass, giving him a look as he went, fuck her, even if he stood on one of them with eggs in it, bastard, he just felt
so fucking bad, so fucking bad.

A walk in the park
    She was coming towards him and he hesitated, she had yet to see him. But then he stepped out the close and he smiled the welcome while taking her by the arm. Beyond the park
gate they continued round the corner and along in the direction of the main road. He said nothing to her. He noticed when she became aware of the fact. He glanced at her, seeing a certain look on
her face; she was trying to hold it to herself, but she didnt succeed and she frowned at him and stopped walking: Is there something up? she asked, but she smiled to make it sound less
dramatic.
    Naw, no that I know of.
    She studied him.
    I’m just no feeling very talkative.
    Mmm. She smiled, I dont really believe you.
    Is that right? Well it’s quite straightforward. He laid both his hands on her shoulders. He was about nine inches taller than her. He stared at her without smiling, then he relaxed and
grinned. But she didnt. And she wasnt going to again, not until she knew there was something to warrant it.
    Ach, he said, christ, I dont have any cash.
    Oh.
    Aye oh.
    So what are we going to do?
    I dont know.
    I’ve hardly got anything either. Did something happen?
    Happen? What d’you mean?
    She looked at him.
    Sorry. Naw, nothing happened. I’m just skint. People are skint these days you know.
    Why are you being sarcastic?
    Oh fuck sorry, sorry.
    And now you’re swearing. Are you worried about your son?
    Naw.
    Did the doctor come?
    He stuck his hands