A stylish kid. Ex-riot.

“Everyone in my year drinks,” she said. “Some smoke. Some take drugs.” She adjusted her skirt, rolled high to reveal her pre-pubescent thighs.
I imagined them, packs of twelve-year-olds binge-drinking on Saturday nights, fighting in parks and vomiting over pavements, pulling at bus shelters and groping in doorways. Kids who don’t remember the nineteen eighties snorting cocaine off toilet seats, chopping out lines with credit cards they aren’t old enough to use; or buying cheap cider from unquestioning corner-shop owners with under-16s bus passes in their back pockets. Putting on high heels and low-cut tops. Lipstick, mascara, rouge. Dancing around their handbags to songs released before they were born.
“My favourite drink is Malibu,” she said. “White rum. Then G & T.” She used the acronym. How many units of alcohol are consumed per week by kids not legally old enough to have sex? How many illicit cigarettes are smoked behind bike sheds, in hidden corners, out of bedroom windows? How many baggies of weed, how many little white pills, sold to children who still take Calpol for colds?

we've nevee had i spo good, we#ve never had it sp god, wr've never had it so good, towersfalls... and i wuld like to clinmb a barricare ;ole ever opther boy you know...but the war at home had beeen betrayed by too many boys on barricades...

Hey, this is the fic journal of, um, me. trenina. Thought it was about time I did this properly.

F-locked; comment to be added.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Cunts Are Still Running The World - Jarvis