It’s the weeks end and Pussy’s the trend the Magic Man’s
surfing tonight as he dips his hands into his Northface Parker and check’s his
stash is right in the place where he left it suburban shaman Sherpa nurturing
the local stars driving their mopeds with their girls riding bitch kidding
themselves that they’re turning heads like their idols in flash sports cars ‘it’s
fucking bizarre that morons exist today what with evolution and all’ the Magic
Man thinks as he trades a baggie for a twenty in a swift hi five at another North
Finchley dive of a house party thrown by a mousy girl looking to make friends
the dealer used to deal to make ends meet but now he trades because he likes breaking
the law and the rep he’s gotten on the street as the Magic Man who can get you
anything you want if the price is right.
‘he’ll get you something that’ll make you taste moonlight’
‘he’ll bake you something that’ll get you hearing sight’
The Magic Man’s tight with everyone constant greetings from
fans of the show who he sells blow among other things to as he huffs a Camel
out of his lungs out front and into the atmosphere punters who couldn’t even pull
the munters making their way home alone from the pub across the street the
pavement peeling and eating their feet and their arms like fruit as they fall
to the ground and become drunken speed bumps humping the concrete in an attempt
to clamber to their feet again.
“what time is it?”
Back in the garden the Magic Man can hear a fight brewing
and he can hear the crowds jeering insults ripple into the world to fuck his
vibe the Magic Man’s dosed on tabs and he sees the battle as a tribe initiation
the two boys wankered strutting in circles like they’ve got fucking
constipation in their neon tracks the one with his cap thrown back strikes the
black boy out into the grass before stumbling to his drunken arse howling about
the way he fell and something fucking smells right now on the porch.
“Allow, did you shit yourself man?”
“I may have done”
Everyone proceeds to laugh out loud how can this fucker be
proud? Because he’s pissed and popular and regardless of his actions there’ll always
be something of an attraction about him Ferris Bueller syndrome the Magic Man’s
bored of the party and gets the train down to Brixton to Rome the streets and
make some cash there’s been a crash and everything’s quiet no one’s out the dark
streets breaking in the summer drought blinking in parts as neon billboards
turn on and off flickering in electrical limbo for hours on end there’s a gang
banger bleeding flowers onto the back street that the Magic Man steps through a
single red petal tearing into teal as it parts under his shoe and down the way
there’s a tramp playing a crackling chord sequence on a broken acoustic sitting
in the wrecks of his camp winding in the wind to the music flick knife flicking
up the fret board in his hand leaking blood from the punk the Magic Man stepped
over not fifty metres ago
“he broke my tent so I split his gut”
It’s a lawless place and in the ruins of the tent he can see
leaches thriving underneath a soiled bedspread Union Jack colours run to black
and grey but the red remains raw in the writhing of the parasites that live to
suck the day away into the night.
‘who put them there?’
The chorus continues
to play the tramp’s singing is ringing in the Magic Man’s uninspired mind that
seems to bind together in the withering feathers of a sky high lifestyle but
also with a strange sense of dread and in the distance two youths make off with
a pair of turn styles breaking glass rattling down the road after them echoes
of their lives future and past the sound of breaking glass will last forever in
Brixton the Magic Man’s life is being held together by the tired rope of the poorly
strung ricocheting riff singing about hope and freedom and ideas that don’t
exist anymore pissed out of his haggard head the Magic Man’s feet are lead on
his legs anchoring him down to deal as the whores from the tenements begin so
surround asking what he’s got to give they’re clothes are tatters and their faces
are bruised and knackered leaking oil onto their used foil frames glinting with
grease and their children paw for a meal at their knees but none of that
matters to them he allows them to buy and they scuttle like rutting rats
through their chipped doors and the Magic Man can feel the heat from their
spoons sting his skin as the whores curl up once again on the floor safe within
the darkness of their score and a girl watching on some steps in a soiled sun
dress rallies the other children up sick of drug money going to the Magic Man
instead of to the store to buy food and as the Magic Man starts to move back to
the station the tramp finally rolls over to rest in the filth of the nation’s repugnant
pride lingering and the girl that’s leading the kids grabs his switchblade from
the tent the Magic Man reaches the bridge and the streets are awash with
electro blue flames brimming up around his toes and at the party back in
Finchley he knows they’ll still be the dier drones of techno on the speakers and
off in the distance from under the bridge he can see the O2 dome clearer than
the moon in the sky and the Man has stopped and the kids have gained on him all
that anger brimming in their eyes there’s a varnished hiss as the chrome blade
enters the Magic Man’s back and ends the Magic act he's filleted on the
floor the children picking his pockets and beating him down like an effigy and the
only thing the Magic Man can see is the Man in Red with a whip in his hand and
Blue in his heart and veins the Magic Man’s in pain he’s begging them to stop
as clubs are dropped with a crunch onto his back and he starts to wretch his
lunch up with the blood that looks like crimson mud pooling around his face while
the Man drops his hood and shows himself for all he is: he shows no fear in the
distance the hero of these blue flames Nero in his red cloak tames the fires to
meet his desires and to burn Brixton like Rome and the Magic Man inside and outside
dies thinking of the comforts of his suburban home away from the slums in the
place that Nero comes to rest in the day after he’s had his play in the streets
casting filth and greed into the sheets of the poor and the children stop petrified
crying pissing in their places their faces aflame with terror they see Nero too
in the streetlamp’s faltering hue but Nero doesn’t wear a cloak he wears a suit
and a smile hiding his vile intentions and he shoots the child that did her best that stood up
for the rest when they were freezing on their doorsteps in the chest with his .44.
BANG
The child’s death isn’t mentioned on the morning news or in
the papers and her followers run their faces plastered in her heart and blood
and soul and the hole gushes out into the floor under the bridge to join the
Magic Man’s pool and the Magic Man realises that he has been played for a fool
all along he thought he was so cool and rebellious doing what his parents and
teachers said was wrong but all along he’s been dancing to Nero’s song destroying
the dying and the crying bag by bag score by score the girl’s blood along with
the Magic Man’s reach the shores of Nero’s black brogues a black limo rolls up
the Royce Phantom is the ride of choice for those with similar pursuits in
matching suits direct from Seville row the four boarders bouncing Eton banter
to and fro on the leather across the left side of the car greet him.
“did you have fun tonight?”
“not as much as you did from what we’ve seen”
“oh man I tell you boys it was like a fucking dream, this
team of tiny tyrants battered this poor dealer patriot doing his part Blue
truths in his heart”
“I say old boy you don’t mean the Magic Man?”
“Sadly I do. The Magic Man’s dead”
“No it can’t be true”
“but it is”
“so what did you do Dave? Did you show those urchins what
happens when you kill one of ours?”
“too right I did”
The limo lurks among the cars stuck in the streets but even
in gridlock Nero continues his speech.
“I shot the main one in the chest, like that slave in
Cambodia do you remember that guys?”
“couldn’t forget it if we tried not that we’d want to you
understand even though that event got a bit out of hand it was still good fun”
“what can I say if she’d have just given me head she would
still be alive”
“but it was the fact that she said called us yuppies that
really got my goat”
“not to mention the fact that she got blood on your coat”
“I know what an inconsiderate bitch”
They sail down the road with a fury to watch a Chinatown
kitchen combust the whole block burning rubble rattling against the roof of the
Rolls screams churning jammed in the back of burning throats crackling in the
flames; they smile and keep beaming for another few miles buzzing.
“hey, James just scored from this guy at this boat party
rave, do you want a tote? I know it’s not my smoke to give but James is out on
his arse over there and I’m not sure he’d care he can always buy more”
And the black car exits into the black wall tunnel funnelling
down into the darkness as the day begins and the smoke goes down into Nero’s
core buckling scuttling down his ribs to cap off the night and back in Brixton
the fires die down but not out they’ll be about again and burning the midnight
oil highlighting the turmoil for Nero to enjoy with his boys.
“hey Dave can I make a toast?”
“sure you can Ed”
“Here’s to the Magic Man”
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