Poem: Bagheads and gougers


Hey. Why do you keep pacing and switching?

Are yer pissed off or summat? It looks like it.

Everything working against ya, right?

Everyone’s a crackhead… aah, I see.


Do you want that though?

Are yis happy with it?

Does not all that fuckin’ rage exhaust you,

or does it… fire ya up? Yeah, yeah, yeh.


Ya need a new SIM, I hear ya. Yeah,

ya could rob one from that shop on Curzon.

It sounds like though you’ve enough

on your plate, but. These vigilantes

afta you, for one.


That’s why you’ve your runners, am I right? And

that tat on your neck – is it yer mott?

It’s a sweet font, sure. I have to ask yer: would you have had

yer top knot last year? I just thought –


– ah, here he is now. I’ve to go, ya see.

I’ll leave you be. Take care of yourself.

Is there a chance – UTC and all that –

of ya being less up yourself, perhaps?






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