westid

I remember the dream I had on my first night in prison. Shouty conversations echo in the background of big solid metal door with no keyhole and no door handle and it’s pitch black outside on the corridor. I’m right above segregation who kept smearing his own shit all over every cell they put him in, and it was non-stop 7am until 3-4-5am

There’s this big mechanical excavator and it takes down the wall of this building on lower beaconsfield street and I’m sat on this wall across the road watching it calmly demolishing the corner of this building. I can feel every gust of wind, every other ambience. Nothing special happened but I was already sinking in a tar pit. I can struggle to get out of it if I want to, but why not just chill and embrace the inevitable? Ever since, it followed me out of jail and back into the free world. Not so much a world, but you know what I mean. Just sat on a little wall across the road watching workmen demolish this building, drinking a cup of tea. I even got up in my sleep and had a cup of tea. I found the cup this morning and I just hope that it was tea. Anyway not so long ago something terrible happened in that building, so I thought this dream was probably something to do with all that coming to a head in the building in lower beaconsfield street. I thought so but no, I kept going there and I don’t get to see who made the brew I was drinking but fuck me it was a nice brew

Anyway this afternoon while I was in the car coming up manchester road, I saw a car on the other side of the road and I fucking knew it straight away. It was this bloke I must have watched him going across the car park a million times and his 4×4 full whack on the corner of the pavement

It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, this have-a-go hero good-samaritan thing. It’s a thankless task but at the end of the day my conscience is clear