hippy girl


Sometimes I didn’t know which book to steal, so I’d just take both of them. As my pal John said, it wasn’t rocket science. All you needed was a sliver of silver paper and the right kind of look. Unfortunately, I had the wrong kind of look. I had criminal hair and a face that said don’t fuck with me because I’m stealing. I could see why Pablo Coehen was so popular. Everything he wrote was a fairy tail. And everybody apart from proper adults, with respectable jobs, liked fairy tales. The big steal was Trattoria and Grabowski with art work so beautiful it would have made Leonardo De Vinci beat his arthritic hands in frustration. That was the kind of person I wanted to be, the kind of person that read that kind of book. I had started it, of course, and got to the stage which spun a person’s body about and cut them into oblique planes. Round about that point I got mental cramp and had to stop and cough.   But I was determined to finish that book in this life time. Perhaps it would take a bit longer.             I had to cough again. I had to work on it and get the proper cough reflex. Cough once. Cough twice and squeeze in an extra cough. That got the phlegm going and soon it was like a bucketful of frogs in my throat. I couldn’t read anymore with the bus jolting me about anyway, so I practiced some more coughing. They had mapped out where I was meant to go, an idiots guide, but some idiots got on the wrong bus regardless and had to come back into Edinburgh and start again. I’d been to the clinic before, so should have known better, but had followed my instincts rather almanbahis than the map. At least it gave me extra time to cough.             They had to see that my throat was properly inflamed before they took me, but it was two grand. A grand a week, which was not bad. They liked me because I was a non smoker. Everyone else was smokers. If they needed to get a cohort of non smokers they would have had to pay more money. Even then they were fucked. Middle class people don’t let pharmaceutical companies test their drugs on them. That was what the working class was for. That was were I came in. Non smoker, working class. Easy money. But I didn’t like getting locked up.             The test went much as I expected. Cough. Cough. Yes you have an inflamed throat. Come back tomorrow and we’ll admit you for the trials. Pick your expenses money from the window today. Most of the guys were here for that. There were a couple of women too. It was a bit like the buroo, guys hanging around waiting to get paid so that they get to fuck and live life until the next day.             I arrived on campus the next day, bright eyes and a bad cough. There were four units and a lot of tests. I’d put Grabowski away. I didn’t want to know what the bastards were doing to me. I wanted a bit of light reading and just to get some air, walk about, maybe do a bit of work in the gym. The meals were good, better food than I was used to, which was some compensation, but not enough. I could leave at any time, but, of course, I’d be penalised for that. As a volunteer, I wasn’t being paid, almanbahis yeni giriş but my ‘expenses’ would decline. Bastards. The Foreign Legion for guys that can’t be arsed.             I’d seen her the first day I arrived. Red hair hanging, long jumpers,   despite the heat and petuala oil. She was pretty in a Laura Ingelis, Little House on the Prairie sort of way. Some times she wore her hair up in those kind of buns, that stuck to the side of her head so that she looked more Germanic. But you couldn’t make Laura Ingelis a German, the thought was ridiculous. I could never remember her name. She told me it dozens of times so that I used to listen out to others saying something to her in the hope that they’d say her name. I always just thought of her as Laura or Hippy Girl. I knew she liked me. I liked her. What was not to like. She had big tits and was pretty. In another life we would have been happily married and had two respectable mutants. That was not what we were here for. What surprised me was she didn’t really understand how things worked. She tried too hard, so that she made everybody nervous, including herself. She would have known by now that pretty means popular. That’s the way life works. But in the unit people would see her coming and disappear to play computer games or hide in the toilet. She wasn’t used to that.   I didn’t hide. I really didn’t give a shit. That always work. People always like people that don’t give a shit. It’s the equivalent of being pretty on the outside world. She actually made me laugh. She was probably the closest almanbahis giriş I’d ever come to liking a Tory. She had some strange ideas about work being good for you and people being work shy and how it was costing us so much more than we could afford. She explained it all with pepper pots and plastic tea cups. I think at one point she killed a tea cup with her enthusiasm. I liked that. Us and them and I was with us. She didn’t make me nervous, but one guy did. Gordon was a big fucker. He’d a big belly, which was good cause that meant he was slow and he’d have no stamina. But he’d also a big gravely voice that rolled around the room, which wasn’t good because all he ever seemed to talk about was how much he’d like to do Carol. Yeh, that was he name, Carol. And how he’d like to put it in her mouth. Between her big tits and up her cookie box. I mean look at that arse. Would you no just love to stick your cock up that. That conversation never really varied so that I gave a great deal of though to where I should hit him.   But it was cool. I wasn’t here for that.   I somehow felt sorry for her. I could see the blush spread out like a map from her breasts to her face. She had probably not blushed since primary school. She looked as if she was going to cry. I wanted to go over and hold her hand and tell her that everything would be ok. But everything was never ok and people didn’t live happily ever after. There were no fairytales in real life. I was ready to smack him right on the bridge of the nose when she got up, all untidy angles, spilling a cup of juice,   nearly knocking the table over in her haste to get out. I went after her to apologise. She was in her room packing. She had a picture of Jesus in his room stretching out his hand shooting out Star Trek rays with a heart that was actually heart shaped.

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