Ramblings 2

“Get the *bunny* up Lily!” Surprise, surprise, once again. Rabbits swimming and dogs miaowing... Monday morning. I’d get to flunk school. Go to the wall. Tipsy would come up and sit on the wall, everyone else would silently gather, as if in prayer, and then – and then, well just scream with ‘em is what I say!’ Equation 2: Friends+Tipsy=Bloody loud fun! Never had we planned for a party before: It was always the spontaneous affect that gave it that typical buzz. Yeah, that dumb record player, that dumb brother, dumb stepdad, dumb real dad and mum! I could teach ‘em all a thing or two.

“Where’s your *bunny* uniform?”

“I ain’t goin’ today. ‘S a day off, ya know? God, Borty!”

“Me name’s Boris, Lily, and you don’t *bunny*in’ forget it, a’right?” I roll my eyes: what would you do when you’re confronted with an East London retard? Sleep’s in my eyes, so I pick up Borty’s T-shirt and rub it out. Swearing after me: I could deal without it, but it’s preferable to have.

'You a minger, y'all?’

‘You on voddy?’ No reply – he isn’t, so I put down my the bag that he asked for and walk away. Thinking about it, my mum is, after all, a waster. I tell her it all the time, and tell her not to take the Tower Bridge for granted while she has a chance to jump off.

Apparently Tipsy’s depressed. That means I’m depressed for the rest of the week. Last time this happened, my late friend... well you can guess from there. Walking is a form of exercise? Tipsy thinks that walking should be shot in the back, but I think he’s nice to talk to! Chips, glorious chips – crap ad. Borty smashed our 1980s box last time he saw it, so now we can't see it. I suggested to Tipsy that he rents a room in Canada – my brother says they’re cheaper there. I don’t know what to make of Tipsy – never have, never will.
My friend Millie says he’s a Granny – what? I say.
Millie, what are you on? Tipsy looks at her with earnest eyes over the fire he lit from chucked away cardboard. He doesn’t understand. His eyes are glassy and he’s waiting for the moment to drink. He usually decides within seconds – why wouldn’t you have vodka? Right now he’s contemplating why to live life, Brad says. We all look across and nod or shake, but Brad’s opinionated, so it doesn’t matter what we do. I shove another greasy chip into my mouth, gulp it down with a shot, and my thoughts trail off.