Open Writing

I lay on the pavement writhing and gasping like any common or garden beaten-up dosser. People walked round me or stepped over me.

A car pulled up. A man with dirty blond hair got out and bundled me into the back seat, next to a young woman wearing a short skirt.

The man slammed the door, then got in the front passenger seat.

'Drive,' he said to the shaven-headed driver.

Soon the driver parked the car and they dragged me into a flat. They tied my wrists and ankles and dumped me on the floor.

The two men went out.

The woman sat in the only armchair and read a book. She had the book in one hand and a pistol in the other. Now and again she looked down at me.

At one point she said, 'Stop looking at my legs, that's male chauvinism.'

I ignored this and went on looking.

Then I asked her what she was reading.

'Mind your own business.'

'Is that the title?'

'Don't you try to be clever with me, I have a degree in media studies.'

'Gee,' I said.

'Now I work with Hans for the overthrow of capitalism.'

That made me smile.

'Well,' I said, 'as a bank manager turned dosser I can proudly state that I myself have thrown over capitalism, if that is any help to your cause.'

'No, it isn't any help at all,' she snapped, putting her book down.

The men came back.

'He's no good to us, Hans,' said the woman, 'he's not an authentic working class dosser. He used to be a -'

'Never use my name, bitch,' he snarled and hit her across the face.

'Oh brave new world,' I said and even the woman glared at me.