How to date girls in the winter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Autobiography of a stranger

Submitted: July 04, 2017

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Submitted: July 04, 2017

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How to date girls in the winter

 

 

Germany in a place where the grass was greener, I cut my big toe wearing open sandle’s on the way to the communal swimming pool. Throwing Action Man from our high rise window to see if his parachute worked and dressing up like Gladiator with the other kids toys my mother used to clean for.

 

The Yanks used to take pity on the local kids with G.I. rations and the locals took pity on us with sausage and pink chocolate at the fun fair.

 

England was green and the Anglo Saxon church on the hill was made with fossils, the graveyard was gothic and I played with Sarah in the cut grass. Guy Fawkes was warm and and stealing trinkets from my well to do friends at Christmas time cemented my reputation in the village, my secret maypole crush.

 

Brother John tried to kill himself a few times and my sister began to go missing more often, we buried the cats in the garden and set the house on fire.

 

Liverpool was red.

 

Northern Ireland was on fire and welcomed me with a brick to the head and a haunted school. Kissing cousins and a failed abdication we made the move to the sticks, DeLorean flashed at me daily and we melted Boba Fett in the woods.

 

Choose life, Skin girls, Goth girls, Jessie’s girl, girls in print hidden with shoplifted sleeves. Backtracking listening for the devil and God and finding Run DMC without Adidas, YTP and IRA sent me to USA.

 

Left Karen at the docks.

 

Georgia was warm and like a Def Leppard video, Robin showed me Sixteen Candles empathising with 'Ducky' or that Ginger guy “Shut up I know they’re two different films” so anyway.

 

Winter is coming in Belfast and its the season of weddings, joyriding and machine-gun cliches, ice creams and Presidents. My daddy always wanted me to wear a uniform so I found one in London for a little while but I forgot the shoes.

 

Tattoos and Shakespeare or Bunyan or Yeats led me here to this place, so do you like me now while I smile at the camera?, do you like me now?..

 

 

 

For the girl with the crooked smile.

 

J


© Copyright 2017 James Tolcher. All rights reserved.