The Starbuccaneer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 03, 2016

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Submitted: October 03, 2016

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Are you fucking kidding me? Really? Is this a fucking joke? A Starbucks? Slap bang in the middle of Leith Walk of all places? 
I'm stood outside of this corporate brand box of shite at 2 on a Tuesday morning in the dead of night. It's right under student accommodation, built not so long ago. You look around and it doesnae fit in with the blackened stone faces of the tenements of the walk. You just know where the future is going when unimaginative, uncritical, lazy fucktards descend from their soulless boxrooms to grab a fucking frapacino every waking day. 
A Starbucks? In leith? The leith of Trainspotting? Can you imagine Sick boy and Begbie strolling into a Starbucks, ordering a caramel latte and making themselves at home? Nut. Me neither. 
I'm actually seething. I shake my head in absolute rage. 
Everything's still. Everything's quiet. Nobody is around. Perfect time to find myself a brick and some petrol and burn the place down.
Hey, good idea! I can go right to the foot of the walk and accost the usual gang of junkies. If I promise them Buckfast and a tenner they'll do anything. I could lead them up the Walk in a giddy madness and we could trash the place and burn it. I'll be like Mookie in Do the Right Thing. I could throw a dustbin through the window and we would smash the place with bats and pipes and hopefully one of them would be practiced in using a Molotov cocktail or some shit. I can just imagine those fake leather seats spark up in flames. Those shiny coffee machines melt like the terminator. Burn down those fake ass pictures of coffee slave farmers. Perfect vindication.
But thinking about it, there'll be CCTV. Fucking 1984 eh? It's everywhere. They would trace it all back to me. Even if I go back to my Duke Street tenement and get dressed in all black, they'll trace me somehow. You know what it's like now. No one gets away with nothing. 
But jeezo I am raging. You know what, I won't actually wait. I need to do something now. Fuck it.  
I go down the walk a bit and see an alleyway right behind a vaping shop. I go down and scour the streets for something, anything that can cause massive heaps of destruction. Rocks, beer cans, needles. Nut. Not good. I go back onto the Walk and find a big overflowing bin. I open the lid and push around. I squeem at touching all the rotting food.  I push away some of the bin bags. Come on. I need something now. Found something. I pull it out. It's a dirty duvet cover. Perfectly flammable methinks. I drop it to the side.  I go back in and more excitedly, push the bin bags out of my way. I move my hand around deeper. Aha! I touch a wee bit of metal. It's a wee bit of pipe. 
That'll get me started.
I climb out of the bin, all psyched up and ready to light up a corporate inferno. I start waltzing back up.  I laugh giddily to myself while I bang the pipe against a stone wall. Uff, this'll cause some damage. 
I'm outside Shitebucks again. I can see a bus on its way down. What if people on the bus see me? Well, I guess I dinnae care. I'll fucking trash the place right in front of ‘em. Actually, you know what, , I want them to film me. Get out your iPhones. Post this on on Facebook, Twitter. It'll be a sensation. I'll be a Martyr. The Starbuccaneeer of leith. 
Now my hearts racing. I'm getting dead hot now in my winter coat. I grip the pipe. Do I bash the window in or chuck it? Chuck it. Dinnae want shards of glass to cut me. 
Got my lighter for the duvet. I scan inside and spot the perfect armchair to light it up on. I should throw shit about first though. No. You won't have enough time. Just break the window, light up the duvet and flee. 
Come on. Fucking launch it you cunt. For Leith. For your pals. For you. 
Come on. 
I'm still thinking. I'm caught up in a mess of thoughts. 
What'll happen if I actually do it like? It's Starbucks. They'll just replace everything. It'll respawn.  They've got the money. Not like all the other places on the walk. Nut. It'll work its corporate magic, he'll, the place will prolly rejuvenate on the spot. All the things that'll melt, the coffee machine, the pictures, those armchairs, will morph back into shape. 
Then what'd happen to me? Shitbucks’ll just call up one of their corporate clone lawyers,  and do me for attempted arson. They'll prolly collar me to Saughton prison themselves. That’s why they go to the gym that often eh? They'd all be pleased to get rid of an ugly, scruffy loser like me so they can take leith for themselves. 
So what'd be the point? To waste my life on this? 
Nut. No game. 
I let go of the pipe and it clackens on the floor, taunting me. In my excited defeat, I chuck the duvet at the window. It doesn't even reach it. It just flounces to the floor. I feel like an idiot. 
Right. Get back home. There's nothing you can do. 



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