The bus-shelter was where grand ambitions and philosophies would take root, only to be torn asunder with the first nagging outbursts of puberty. And sometimes there were girls, which was a bonus for some, but I personally found it rather distracting. When one is trying to be funny, one is less likely to engage with profound thought. Unless one is Woody Allen.
In fact, girls proved to be an inconvenience for much of my youth. One minute they all want you, and it's kiss-catching and chasing and "will you go out with her" and "no, girls are crap" and so forth. Then, with bitter, gloating irony, the very second, the very nanosecond that my interest in their feminine mannerisms was plucked, they decide there's actually much better looking gentlemen a little further along. Ones that play football, by God, and some of them even drink.
There it was again.
This whole drinking carry-on. Seemed to be, from what I could tell, via the utilisation of various diagrams and complex pie charts, this drinking malarkey in some way attributed to ones social status. If one didn't play football, if one no more cared to run around a field half naked covered in shit and snotters than they desired to insert disproportionately jagged objects into sensitive orifices, then the only way to get anyone's attention was to drink and throw up and tell folks they know the score.
No matter how many pints, shots, cap-full's and quarter-bottles I have ingested, I am still no closer to knowing what "the score" actually is. Yet, everyone I have ever came into contact with during my drunkenness, knew precisely what it was. Sometimes very loudly.
And sometimes they may return the compliment.
"This fucker here", says I, my arm around this fucker here's shoulders, "He knows the score so he does."
"No!", says my acquaintance, "You know the score. You know the fuckin' score, son, you know the score."
Usually, both parties conclude that they each hold some knowledge regarding the score, and everything is settled.
But I was lying every time. Whatever the score was, I knew damn all about it.
But I presumed it would arrive at some point, this knowledge of tally's, this enlightenment regarding numerical results.
At age 13 the thing to do for an evening was suddenly changed from standing around at the bus-shelter talking about stuff, to heading off into town, hanging around street corners and, well, talking about stuff. But with much more swearing.
Article comments
1 - Chakan
Please continue.
2 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
OK. thank you. note the time that this was posted. It took me to 5 in the mornin to finally decide upon it. As for the book that's linked to there, obviously any help is to be appreciated, and thanks to whoever put the link on, since i was half asleep when i was posting this. Personally, tho, i found books and literature and all that to be little help without human contact. But whatever helps, man. Thanks for the encouragement. Il get Part 2 up ASAP, though it might take a day or two. Thank you.
3 - Chakan
Thanks. :)