A train waits, basking in the sun on the bridge. We shout abuse. Mark throws a can. It’s beautiful tonight. Off at the station and into the city. The air is golden, the high street like a motorway to be pillaged. The clubs are clotted with roaring men and oases of girls exposing bellies that shine like goals. Mark is swaying and singing but he’s forgotten the words. The girls laugh. He stumbles and wedges his eyes into a cleavage for support. ‘Slappers.’ This is the way we always come – right at The Yard. Six hours until we will reach the clubs at midnight. If we score we get home after sunrise – high and stupid as clouds. If not it’s back to mine, via chip alley for kebabs and the wine in my fridge.
– Benjamin F Jones
I love the idea that this is an opening for a novel. It has characters and a wonderful scene.