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Inner City Blues

11:30am. Spliff with breakfast. Eggs and toast, no butter. Then shower. Today I'll find a job. Riots in the center. Someone has been shot; but that doesn't concern me. That is for the disenfranchised. The forgotten, the ignored; not the disillusioned self-alienated. Today I'll find a job. Three months unemployed. The account is running low; 15. Enough to get me into the city center, enough to print C.V's at the public library, enough to buy some lunch and get me home. Today I'll find a job.

There's a fight breaking out on the bus. I barely notice until the full can that was meant to crack the skull of someone else hit my feet; exploding on my good shoes. Printer at the library is broken; print shop charged more, print fewer C.V's. No Vacancies. Try online. Christmas temp work only; come back in November. 3 lunch; empty sandwich and a bottle of water. No money for cigarettes. Maybe the state of my shoes has been a problem; soaking wet and smelling of stale beer now. Too disheveled to appear employable.

5:30pm. Back home. Spliff and coffee. Last of the tobacco. Watch the news; the economy is growing, fewer unemployed, more young people in work, less on job seekers allowance. Perhaps I missed the boat. Light another spliff, wait for the next one to sail by.

Story by:

Mark Anthony Kaye

mark-kaye@hotmail.co.uk

16 October 2013