You're A Long Way From Home (part 1) - TISM

His thin feminine neck, Adidas collared, becomes rigid with growing unease

Tripping to the counter, he raises an uncertain coiffured eyebrow to Bertrand

Bertrand’s hair, like his own is dyed black, cut short, gelled to the front

There is ecstasy in his track pants — track pants never worn doing any sport

He seems to sense every grim slitted eye studying his nasal ring

He wonders where the bottle shop part of the bar is

And looks confused at the yellow posters of the red and black back to back

premiership teams

A Tabaret machine clings, then many more

Pinging in his hearing like grotesque mutated ghosts of DJ rave mixes odds

living techno beats

Trapped beats, somehow condemned to play in this horrid bar to these slumping,

motionless resentful men

Transformed in his hearing into a sirened warning of implied violence

«Bertie» he whispers, «Do you think they sell Evian here?»

One huge man, working filth still covering his T-shirt

Unseen by the two ravers, silently slides off his barstool like a shark that

senses feed

«You're a long from home, raver boy.»