In lieu of hope, however, I’ll chase whatever I need right now. Right now, what I need is a large cup of irresponsibly strong coffee, a fag and a bacon butty. The all night garage down the street is staffed seven nights a week, from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m, by Sticky. Sticky is an idiot, but a gentle, credulous idiot with a serious drug habit. I don’t know if he thinks I’m a hallucination, or if he’s just far enough gone not to question the armed teddy bear who turns up in the quiet hours, but he doesn’t freak out, or demand remuneration. Coffee, ciggies and microwaved bacon sandwiches are mine for the taking, along with all the de-icer, scented pine trees and pro-plus I could ever need. This is my luxury.
Tonight, I am not in the mood to talk. I dump my haul outside the door while I slouch about the aisles. I get the coffee first and set it inside the microwave with the butty to reduce it a bit further. I like my coffee to stick to the sides of the cup.
God damned microwaves. Worst crime against bacon since Judaism. Still, until I work out how to work a grill or frying pan without setting my paws alight, it’s what I’ve got.
Sticky grins a greeting to me as I nod in his direction and make my way back into the night, gathering up my catch. The sun will be coming up in a few hours; time to get home.
I say ‘home’; it’s a nicer word than ‘abandoned children’s hospital’. I don’t know how long it’s been there, untouched by development, or how long it will stay, but for now it’s a haven. The only people who ever go there are hunting for ghoulies and ghosties by moonlight. I’m not usually at home when they crawl the halls…and neither are the ghosts; they have better things to do.
That being said, sometimes I just can’t resist fucking with them. I have a pair of stilts and a megaphone that I keep for just such occasions. You’ve got to get your kicks somewhere.