Close 3

The morning starts from Jamie given me a half empty carton of orange juice. In bed. With cold toast as I hesitate he gets the juice back and drinks it himself and after I’m done with two bites he finishes the toast and pulls me up, he is acting sweeter with the half carton but nothing else is going on besides the fact that the morning is started by wasting pricey tickets in Waverley to get to London.

I sniff at the price and realize when you keep stealing money it’s not so hard to achieve and be back on track which they one you’ve had, you can just keep filling it up as if you’ve never even spent or stolen, well, maybe you steal from yourself.

We hesitate past the school trip to Newcastle and Jamie sulks at the rains and whenever we go under bridges and his ears ache.

The sheep seem to friendly unlike all the cows looking brown and English. I wouldn’t want to belong anywhere, that’s why american heritage or rather knowing that you came from somewhere until you poke your family history is well enough.

And I want to lie on the fields sometimes without Jamie who would blow flowers and grass on my face and then he’d come along in flannel holding a water bottle and would ask me how my day went.
Jamie closes his ears comically and tragically to him as we go under a bridge again and the squeeking sound of trains waving to each other on oposite aisles seems funny as I try to wave at people and we both are so bubbly we resemble ballons.

I stare at the golden rooster as we pass a church in England, Scotland with its green grass behind us and I am starting to feel a bit homesick unlike Jamie who lived in London and most likely wants to smoke a fag again in London.

I lived in London with him as well, but we’ve been too long to remember the places and recall the faces. And the train shakes as Jamie goes into the bathroom and I see him taking out his gun in front of the mirror and pushing it into the back of his throat some sort of low dominance from strict societies of getting dominated by a blow job, well now he’s dominated by death and he wants it.

He pulls the trigger.

And the shot goes around the seats and the faces, the people, the ghosts of the Newcastle from Edinburgh or not kiddos and I jump

And Jamie walks by, his shirt around in sweat and not blood and he carries a bag of gummi bears.
In London they take out the blooded body which to me will resemble Jamie even if he was blonde and female and Jamie had forgotten his gun back home but it wouldn’t be a problem, we’d buy,

we’d steal

we’d shoot

and Jamie would smoke his fag in an alley alone

with me in my field in my head

and then we’d get a house

get married

with a field

and children around

because maternal instinct just clicks at your age

whatever your age is

and I walk out on King’s Cross holding his hand, knowing London enough and today already.

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I'm doing this on the train so yeah:D LONDONANDJACKWHITE WKHRJKRHJKGHREKJGHERKJGHERJKGJKHERGJHERHGHERJVHKERHV

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