Who would you call if you had nowhere to go, and a dog. Lost God five
There's a folder on my desktop called Lost God, slowly I'm sharing it 1000 words at a time. So far there's been a miserable domestic and a walk out. Now I have to find somewhere to go...
I want to keep this Lost God stuff private. It’s for the hardcore. If you’re into my antics and writing and labradors and lurchers in boy racer cars please join me for secret adventures. If not, I will see you on the free subscriber side soon. Kate
Lost God 5
Generations of gentrification has not removed the handful of derelicts that mill and low outside the Nisa on Ladbroke Grove. Early morning trains rumble over the iron bridge above, its drear urbanity is cut with weirdly discordant baked bread smells drifting from the in store ovens designed to give your seedy rip off local shop the romance and allure of a Parisienne boulangerie. It’s a while since I have been to this shop. In all my decades living here, I only ever came to the Nisa on after hours sorties for drink and fags.
It’s months since I smoked a cigarette but now I have smoking on my mind and the want is urgent. A wretched skinny guy’s quibbling over the cost of a packet of Superkings, pleading the regularity of his custom and slowing my access to the Marlboro Lights. How much does he need? “Firty pence”. I tell the man scowling behind the till that I will cover the extra. My fellow smoker’s obsequiously grateful, but corrects the guy when he hands him the wrong packet. “No, no, the black ones,” he says. I cover the extra 50 pence.
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