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Friday, 25 November 2011

Following The Mozziah Day 72 Friday 25th November 2011

London, present day.
A man, in his late 60's picks up his telephone and calls a number. It is answered by a man in his early 30's.
30's MAN: Hello, Tim Jo, er, I mean, er, can I help?
60's MAN: (Speaking in his usual old public school voice) Oh yes, how do you do, I mean, er (adopts rougher but still poshish voice) alright, er, mate? I'm calling about the advertisement you have placed in the music journal, the New Musical Express, is the merchandise still available?
30's: Yeah, you interested?
60's: Yes, yes I am, it's not for me you understand, it's for a, er, friend.
30's: It doesn't matter to me mate, I've kicked the habit, I don't need it anymore. I want a ton for the lot, cash. You got the money?
60's: Yes, a ton, I presume you mean one hundred pounds? I need it this afternoon though, I need a fi, I mean my, er, friend needs the goods, he needs them now.
30's: Okay, okay, keep your wig on, can you meet in the loos at Waterloo station at 2?
60's: Yes, yes, I know them well. How will I recognise you and how did you know about the wig?
30's: It's just a saying mate, I'll wear a red rose.
60's: Jolly good, I'll wear a white one.

Later that day, the public toilets, Waterloo Station.
The two men see each other's roses and enter separate cubicles next to each other. Thirties man is carrying a large bag.
60's: You got the gear?
30's: Yeah, you got the cash?
60's: Yes, yes I have but I need a little taster first, pass me a sample.

Thirties man removes a portable CD player from his bag along with a bootleg version of The Butterfly Collector cd by The Smiths. He passes them through a hole in the cubicles. Sixties man puts the headphones on and randomly selects track 8.
60's: What's this shit? This is poor quality, are you trying to fuck me over?
30's: No, listen it's just a poor recording, try this, this is pure 100%.
Thirties man passes through the CD of Meat is Murder.
60's: Ah yes, I've heard about this, I'm told this is pukka stuff.
Sixties man places the CD into the player and presses play. The sound of 'The Headmaster Ritual' instantly fills his head and he closes his eyes and sucks in the air.
60's: Fuck, yes.
Four minutes 52 seconds later.
60's: This is good shit man, have you got all the rest of the stuff you advertised?
30's: Yep, it's all here.
60's: I don't need Arsenal, I've got that, it's the one that got me hooked and now I need more, I need it all. Why are you selling this stuff, are you mad?
30's: Don't get me wrong, I love it, I love every last drop of it but well....
60's: Go on, what is it?
30's: Can I trust you, do you promise me as a friend and fellow user?
60's: Of course, I swear, I am a man who can be trusted. Unburden yourself child.
30's: All of those lies. I've written lies, twisted lies, well, they weren't lies, they weren't lies, they weren't lies.
60's: Were they lies?
30's: Yeah. *Punches himself* Shit, I crumble SO easily, they're going to make mince meat of me.
60's: Who?
30's: Never mind, but the top and bottom of it is, I have to get rid of the goods, I can't be found with them in my possession. I've already kept them longer than I should've, they've been hidden away in my bottom drawer at work and I've had secret hits when nobody is around but if McNic, I mean, if er, anyone were to find them I'd be in trouble, and believe me, trouble loves me. Why are you buying anyway, I wouldn't have had you down for this sort of stuff?
60's: I'll be honest, I knew nothing of this seedy world until recently when a case came before me, I mean, er, it was mentioned in passing that I should try it. I purchased 'Your Arsenal', purely for research purposes and it was poetry, pure poetry. Not since my fagging days at school, when the sixth formers read Wilde to me, have I known such pleasures, such rushes to the head. Every word is birdsong, every song a poem of tragedy, splendour and beauty.
30's: So why didn't you just go and buy the rest of the stuff from a high street dealer, why come through the small ads?
60's: I can't be seen to be indulging in public, I too have a story and a secret. Can I tell you? Can I trust you as my dealer and friend to say nothing?
30's: You can trust me, I like you and I assure you I'm not the sort of person who says they like somebody and then goes writing lies about them afterwards. I don't suppose you've got any spare tickets I could have, actually forget that, sorry, carry on.
60's: You see, I represent the scales of justice and I have a case coming soon where I must be impartial, but how can I when I'm living a lie? I'm hooked and I need more and more. I spend every second reading about him, watching internet clips of him and now I need to own everything he's ever made. I want to go and see him but I daren't. Or could I? Perhaps I could don a beard and......Hold on, did you say McNic *penny starts to drop* Did you say lies, twisted lies? Jonezy?
30's: Scales of justice? *penny drops* Tuggy?

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