Stories to tell early 1980

Cathy was my friend.

I was twenty.

Cathy was twenty three.

she worked 

at British Home Stores.

On the counter

where lipstick

and smells jostled.

Colours for the nose.

Candy for the eye.

 

She was pretty.

Very pretty.

 

We’d meet in 

The pub.

“The Cheese”.

We’d drink. 

We’d get stoned.

And go and 

have sex.

We didn’t 

make love.

 

And she’d inject 

her heroin.

Which was 

unusual then.

One night 

I said…

“Let me try that”.

She said…

“No”.

And with a kiss.

“You don’t want this

you don’t want

what it means”.

She had white eyes

And her needles 

Were clean.

 

I liked drugs.

And heroin

I’d never tested.

And that…

I was Interested.

But she said no.

So we just fucked.

A bit.

Then I went away

for six months.

And when… 

I came back

Cathy had left

For Aberdeen.

With some guy

who worked 

on the rigs.

 

So I never saw 

Again….

The woman who…

Randomly.

Saved my life.

Who knew?

So it wasn’t 

until years later

that I thought

this.

 

And the magic 

of peoples lives.

I like to listen.

As everyone has

Stories to tell. 

 

Autobiographydrugslife

◄ 68 Grafton St 1977

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