Twilight: Innocent Bullshit or Invading Parasite

Can I has my MTV Movie Awards Back?

I get it I'm no longer a teenager. No, no, I really do get that but here's the trouble. I love the films where I get to hear Jonah Hill ask people about his weiner, see Seth Rogan get high, and watch Jason Biggs lovingly fuck a pie – no rhyme intended (honest). And I'm afraid the truth is I'll never grow out of it. And I adored the MTV Awards that honoured my guilty pleasures and celebrated clever people who helped make 'Films for Friends'.You can't watch an Oscar winner in a room with six or seven other people. You need a film that requires a short attention span, provokes laughter rather than tears and is quotable so that the next time your having dinner at your friend's house you can turn to them and say, “Not at the table Carlos”, burst into fits of laughter and make adults present think you're an alien species. Face it, Jason Segal's penis is never going to win an Oscar, neither will Ken Jeong's penis, or Ben Stiller's penis... But you bet your penis they can win a MTV Movie Award!

Well not lately...

Which brings me to the demise of MTV, specifically, but not limited to its Movie Awards that were once such an important part of my adolescence, and one night even saved a dear friendship of mine... MTV, as a mate of mine recently pointed out, used to play Music Videos. Now it plays a never ending number of cringe-worthy, barrel-scraping, vomit inducing, cretin breeding reality shows. Which in effect has rendered the channel unwatchable in my opinion... But to make matters worse my beloved Movie Awards have been high jacked by the worst kind of tat I could ever have imagined – The Twilight Saga.

The latest phenomenon to bask in 'middle of the road crapness', Twilight, is the tale of a young girl who, after starting a new life in the Pacific North West, falls in love with a vampire who is on a knife edge about whether to be with her, or eat her. The films are based on a series of novels by Stephenie Meyer: Mormon, Conservative and all round sexist nutbag.

Watched out of curiosity, I didn't know all that much about Twilight when I watched the first film. Within minutes of watching I began to develop an ill feeling that was eventually confirmed sometime after Bella and Edward had 'fallen' so madly 'in love'. I felt like I'd missed something.

Often dialogue can seem silly when taken out of context. Observe some gems courtesy of IMDb:

1.Edward Cullen: And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.
Isabella Swan: What a stupid lamb.
Edward Cullen: What a sick, masochistic lion.

(Oh please...)

2.Edward Cullen: I don't have the strength to stay away from you any more.
Isabella Swan: Then don't.

(Who says that...)

3. Edward Cullen: I hate you for making me want you so much.

(Tosser...)

Individual snippets of dodgy dialogue string together in this film to provide hours of unending cringe worthy inane babble that somehow feels forced and contrived, and at times so unnecessary it makes a mockery of story-telling. The saccharine lines build one upon the other. Sometimes I wonder whether the acting actually fails the dialogue. But that’s really like posing the chicken/egg issue. The scene in which she researches and confronts him about being a vampire just seemed so unnecessary to begin with, but to then drag it out and allow the actors to give the most awful performances of the film was just painful to watch.

Much like the dialogue, so many of the scenes felt strung together with no flow to them what so ever. Many of them could have come from completely different films. The slow, droning beginning, the irrelevance of the base ball game, and the sudden quick paced fight just didn’t click into place with each other. On the subject of the baseball scene, it seemed clear, more than at any other time in the film, that director Catherine Hardwicke was indeed an amateur when it comes to directing. The scene is played over a lively track, Muse’s Supermassive Black Hole, however the action on screen is not fast paced enough to fit the rhythm of the song and there’s dialogue running over it at times which is odd. There's no choreography what so ever. Poor use of what would have been a fantastic soundtrack.

The plot and the dialogue failed to such an extent that in every scene the screen writer took it upon themselves to just keep hammering it home to you that the ‘love-struck’ couple shouldn’t be together, when to be honest you probably came to that conclusion without having to be told. He is a blood sucking vampire after all. Bella, appears so emotionless throughout the film, and it is hard to even believe that she could fall in love. Regardless of the heart throb status of Edward, played by the conventionally attractive Robert Pattinson, she just doesn’t look all that in love with him. Her lingering looks of love would look more at home in the final shot of a blackmail scene in some horrendous American soap opera.

At what point are we supposed to think they’ve fallen in love anyway? At the beginning of the film if she’s not looking like a vacant doll she’s angry, or frowning, or screwing her face up.

The film is without a doubt one of the most abysmal and patronising pieces of cinema I have seen in some years. Its greatest moment, the action-packed fight scene towards the end of the film, seemed out of place and lacking a climax. In fact the entire film lacked any kind of climax. Quite fitting for a film where chastity seems to be the underlying subliminal message being pumped into teenage minds. At the end I laid back in my seat dissatisfied and angry with myself for even daring to ignore my instincts and watch a film I had already assumed would be awful. The only thing to amuse me during the film was its poor execution, and the appearance of a stuffed armadillo that was subject to continuity errors in the classroom scene some where in the first half of the film.

Even more irritating than the actual film was the hype around it. It seemed like most critics were frightened to say what they were really thinking, in many cases avoiding the obviously awful directing. Some critics even praised it, with ‘heat’ sighting the only bad thing about it was the fact that the fight scene didn’t seem relevant to the rest of the plot. Really, 'heat'? Most scenes weren't relevant to the plot... The Telegraph almost sings its praises, justifying its thin plot because it appeals massively to teenage girls. It is after all a romance more than a supernatural drama as such. Is this what appeals to teenage girls? Being patronised and made to feel self-conscious about their sexuality, their relationships and ultimately misguide them on the role a 'boyfriend' plays in their life.

The only thing that people who love this film seem to tell me is that its, and I quote, “Sweet”, “Cute” and “Robert Pattinson is sooo hot”. There’s no substance. It’s an awful film trying to take itself seriously, and I find that insulting. The books have obviously made a huge impact but to be honest, I really don't want to even go there. I would never have picked the books off a shelf at a book shop because I'm usually in the adults section anyhow. I did however sit through Twilight. I'd like a refund on my two hours. I won't even sit through the other films for the purposes of this article. Hey, life's short people!

I would also like a refund on the last 3 MTV Movie Awards that have been sodden with Twilight's actors, preview clips and worst of all, gong winners. In almost every category they win, and with what logic? I know its not Kristen Stewart's acting ability, or screen presence... Even fans of the book have expressed their hatred for her with as much venom as myself. Excrable is a word that often comes up. And I get it, Pattinson is good-looking, and Lautner has a six-pack – who in hollywood doesn't? Is it the story? The lame arse, forced, overworked love story? The importance of not being single? The importance of fearing your sexuality because if you have sex your partner will actually kill you and eat you? No drugs, no real violence, no swearing???? What kind of fucking MTV is that????

I'm just... I'm angry... I'm not going to change the world's opinion. But now that Breaking Hymen... I mean Bella... Sorry, I mean Dawn... Poor Dawn... She wasn't in the first film so I don't know how bad the actress that plays her is, so I will sympathise with her coming of age which I assume will be forced, and end with her getting pregnant and leading a miserable existence but one where hope, and further gravy train sequels, will continue to live on.. Any way! Now that the final film has come out, I will, when unprompted, stop informing the world of how shit and over hyped it is, if please, please, please, pretty please... Can I has back my MTV Movie Awards???

P.s: As of two nights ago, i.e. after I had finished the article and it was awaiting editing, I was just looking at my facebook feed when the following status turned up:

“Just back from seeing Breaking Dawn Part 1.”

PART ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There's another fucking part. So no MTV Awards back until 2014??? Still, its not all bad. Last night I had a peak at this years Scream Awards hosted by Spike TV... I think I might be sliding on over to the dark side of Geek...

The Smoking Debate: Arse and Ash

Arse and Ash

I read an interesting article in the Guardian that was published yesterday about the smoking ban. New legislation is allowing its grip to further grow and mutate until, as one concerned reader put it, they will eventually begin censoring the internet! First of all, the internet is already censored in many places around the world – please don't bring in the irrelevance of your fears that one day Facebook won't be free into this. Also, people have lived for millennia without the internet and still managed to launch revolutions if that's your concern. And second of all, lots of other pieces of legislation affect our civil liberties but you rarely hear people talk about those rights that have been taken away over a couple of pints at the local put, unless there happens to be a group of us left 'extremists' in there. Smoking seems to touch a nerve like nothing I've ever known.

The new legislation is calling for a ban on smoking in cars where children are present, which people speculate will lead to a complete ban on smoking in privately owned cars. The government has already stopped people from doing lots of things in their cars; making phone calls, texting, drinking alcohol, and from what I understand, lewd behaviour. No one seems to have trouble with these laws – except those that break them obviously, but the general consensus seems to be that these activities can kill on the road. From the debate that carried on at the end of the article, people keep regurgitating the idea that regardless of empirical statistics that suggest smoking, and indeed second hand smoking can kill, there is not hard evidence to suggest that smoking imposes enough of a risk to enforce this breach of civil liberty. I'm sure that lots of people use their phone illegally in cars, drink and text – in fact I've seen people do all those things while driving – and never get caught, never kill anyone, never even come close to causing an accident. But it doesn't make it ok for them to do those things in the eyes of the law, nor the public's. So again, why is smoking any different?

Smokers feel they are under attack. They feel as though the non-smoking world is on their case about it every second of every day. The trouble with smoking is that even most casual smokers eventually go hardcore at some point in their lives. I know plenty of people who can have a couple of drinks and stop. I don't know quite as many people who smoke a couple of cigarettes once or twice a week and not think about smoking the rest of the time.

Well here's the ugly truth, when I was growing up in the nineties everywhere I went there were people smoking. In restaurants, on planes, on transport and my parents were both smokers. My father, at his peak, smoked 80 strong cigarettes a day around me. In fact I don't have many childhood memories where he's wasn't holding a cigarette... Just a few weeks before he passed away earlier this year from CAD (Coronary Artery Disease) he told me that he couldn't muster a 5 minute bath without lighting up while he was soaking. A man that addicted doesn't care about the discomfort and damage that they are inflicting upon their children, let alone anyone else.

I have met considerate smokers – I live with one – and I can't accuse them all of being ignorant but that doesn't change the many people I've encountered over the years who have become so frustrated with everyone else's right to breathable air that they have gone on the offensive at every non-smoker who only wishes for them to refrain from smoking until we've finished our dinner, which incidentally wasn't served with a side of arse-ash smell...

People trying to be 'helpful' have tried to find alternatives to the ban in cars while children are present. My favourite appeared in the main article itself, suggesting that people 'open a window'. He was cut down to size almost immediately by someone making the point that driving on the motorway with the windows down is impractical for obvious reasons. One alternative I can think of is to grant a child the legal right to request that a cigarette be extinguished in their presence. But what parent suffering from nicotine withdrawal will listen to a child? And what child would make a formal complaint against their parents for harming them in a way they can't entirely understand yet.

The biggest problem is that smokers feel this chastisement will continue until smoking is banned from all walks of life. The truth is I think the buck needs to stop in peoples houses. I know lots of people who won't smoke in their own home anyhow, and not just because they have children. Some people smoke but are aware that they are damaging their furniture, stinking up their house and yellowing their walls. That said, I live with a smoker and I don't mind him smoking in the house, if only because the cigarettes he smokes aren't that strong and the thought of him walking in and out of the house constantly is more annoying than putting up with the smoke his roll-ups give off. Sometimes, when a lively conversation is cut short – or I'm left in a restaurant or a bar alone – or someone misses a song we could have shared together – I briefly wish that the smoking ban had never be put in place. And then I remember the smoke, the smell, my eyes and lips stinging and the one time someone burnt my nail polish narrowly missing the skin on my thumb...

And sometimes I feel like it shouldn't stop there... this last year I have had to dodge being burnt by countless cigarettes held by people standing in office door ways, coughed my through clouds of smoke created by people standing at bus stops, put up with people puffing away while I dine al fresco and been attacked by streams of ash and smoke trailing behind people walking in front of me. In fact I even had to change my route home from work to avoid the gauntlet of Smoker Alley outside Farringdon tube.

Perhaps its your right to damage your lungs, stain your teeth and smell like a bonfired pile of arse, just as it is my right not to witness, or smell, or inhale it. The politics of a subject like smoking are clear to see. Politics is organic, and it grows and is shaped by those who are granted power. A law can be instated and it can just as easily be removed. This has happened many times in our two-party system but the truth is, no one is backtracking when it comes to smoking legislation I'm afraid – My advice is get on the winning side, or indeed stay on it, because this is one fight smokers are going to lose.

Misery loves company... not always...

Some months ago I was faced with a dilemma that, to be fair, I never thought I would have to face. What do you do when there has been a death in the family and you have just started a blog that needs feeding? Quite honestly I wasn’t in the mood to write short stories or funny anecdotes. When you’re angry, and sad, and worried, the humour that manifests itself inside your mind is dark and unpleasant. Black comedy, borne of tragedy, seeks to soothe the soul when it’s hurting - but this time I chose my privacy instead.

For the most part I’m still not entirely comfortable now, seven months on, sharing what has happened in my life here. And on facebook I choose not to talk about it and carry on as if everything is normal, but it can’t be. Still I don’t want to let things fall by the wayside so I’ll keep posting from now on. I’m feeling much better than I was. I feel like I have more direction and hope for the future. They'll be not only stories from my school days but other more sober (pun tended) tales from my days at university.

Apologies of a Teenager in Cyprus

Larry the starfish guy

There was a place that was just for us. That’s important. That place, that special place. It doesn’t matter who you are, when you’re a teenager you need one. Five days a week you go to school. You pretend to care about your future, or not. You listen in class, or not. You do your homework or you play video games. You conform or you rebel. For five days a week. But Friday night you are no longer a student. If only for the next 48 hours you are yourself. You are on your time. You make your own labels. You can be whatever you want to be until Monday morning when you are once again an upstanding student or a trouble maker. And you have your place where you can be yourself. The little slip road in Larnaca that brought together Savino, Stone Age, Lounge and Indigo was ours. Our place.

 It was a quiet weekend and there wasn’t much to do. Rachel stayed at mine, keeping me company for yet another night while my grandparents began adjusting to life in their new apartment. Hungry and uninspired by what could be delivered to us we headed out. After dinner we walked to Indigo for a few drinks. We weren’t sure who we’d bump into there but someone was always around. The beer began to flow and it wasn’t long before the word shots had come up. No one drinks shots unless they want to get completely and utterly wasted. You can’t enjoy a beverage that barely spends any time in your mouth. You don’t want to savour the flavour. You probably don’t like the flavour but its Friday night and you want the week to blur away. Your inhibitions start to fade and you can’t help but dance. People’s voices become muffled and all you can think about is your next drink. You have to keep mixing them or the buzz will wear off. You don’t want anything to wake you from your drunken haze, your little world. In your place.

The lights begin to swirl and your movements become more fluid. Everything feels weightless.

And then it hits you. You’ve drunk too much and you’re either going to be sick or fall asleep. Either way you’re going to fuck up everyone’s night. It’s never good when someone throws up. People suddenly don’t want to drink anymore. Their caring instinct takes over and they sober up immediately. Even if they’re still drunk they manage to act like they’re not. They feel the need to get this poor person some water. Maybe a hug. Everyone’s seen that sad image when girls hold each other’s hair off their face and rub their back to ease the wrenching. That’s always comforting and they know it. They want to be there for their friend in need. It’s a sure fire way to end someone’s night, to arouse their need to tend to you. And if you fall asleep you are also allocated a baby sitter to keep an eye on you.

So, I did the only thing I could. I excused myself and asked Rachel if she wanted to go for a walk. This is normally part of an unwritten code that depending on what is going on can mean several things. It can mean, “Someone here is irritating me and I want to bitch to you about it.” It can also mean, “I’m really into this guy and I need to get some mints.” Or it can mean, “I’m bored and need to get out of the smoke and noise.” Or in this case, “I’m drunk and desperately need some fresh air.” You know who your best friend is when they leave a good time to see to it that you’re not on your own.

We took a walk around to another one of our places. The far side of the fort, where the waves lapped against the side of the aged building. There were plenty of places to sit and it had become of somewhere of multiple uses. Young lovers used it as a nook to spend time losing their virginity and start rumours at school. Young drinkers such as myself took advantage of this concealed wall to drink cheap off licence booze and lark about. Tourists sat sunburnt and reflective of their time in Cyprus with ice cream or fishing rods. That night our worlds would collide in this one spot. Stumbling, still dizzy we walked around to the back of the fort. Barely able to lift my head up I stared bemused at the bright lights protruding from the floor. A new feature at the time, the lights would no longer work in a few months. Allegedly someone drunkenly cracked one of the lights in and then decided to pee into it. I thought that was unnecessary. I mean, the sea was right there. Maybe it was a physics experiment. I don’t know.

After I had gotten my all out of staring at the light I turned my attention over to Rachel who had been talking with some late night fishermen. They sounded American. I smiled and pretended I was listening. My mind wondered around as chit chat carried on in the back ground until I spotted something that could hold my attention. Lying on the edge of the path way before the foot or so drop into the sea was a little gray star. Without hesitation I picked it up. It was hard and cold. As I examined it with eager curiosity I could feel wet sand between my fingers. “That’s a starfish you know?” The American explained with a chuckle. The ‘be silent and they won’t notice you’re hammered’ approach had not worked. But they were nice enough to explain that it appeared lifeless until it was returned to the water where it would resurrect itself. “Can I keep it?” I asked not quite realising just how crazy I sounded. They laughed. I don’t even know if that was an answer but I walked away happy with my prize. I was going to carry him in my pocket until I got home and then I’d set up a tank for my new friend.

Rachel and I walked back to Indigo to find the others but it was getting late and they had gone home. We decided, having not had enough, to sit outside and have one last drink. I took our new company out of my pocket. I already knew I’d never forget that night. I had the widest grin on my face. Already in my head I was imagining my pet starfish and the fantastic tale of how he came into my life on that routine Friday night.

“I’m going to call him Larry.”

“Why Larry?”

“It suits him, don’t you think?” I said, beaming with pride.

 Still fascinated by him, I began twirling him around in my hands. I smoothed away most of the damp sand and ran my fingers along the little grooves on his body. I couldn’t wait until I woke up the next morning to see him with sober eyes. The first time I had ever seen a real starfish and I was going to bring him back to life.

Just as my thoughts had gotten ahead of me, I started to feel something cold creeping across my hands. Instinct took over and in a fit of panic I heard a crunch. You do often react when you’re drunk. But more often than not that reaction tends to be the wrong one. Refocusing my unsure eyes I became certain. My new friend had died in my hands. I had broken off one of his legs. I was overcome with shock at what I had done. I was holding him one minute, sure to make him a home where he could be comfortable and live under the sea once more. The next he had been maimed by my own hand. As dreams of our happy future together faded I was overcome with grief. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Stinging, alcohol induced tears began to fall down my cheeks and onto Larry, still in my hands, now more lifeless than ever. To this day I don’t know whether it was my tears or something that oozed out of Larry but I could feel it dripping down my hand. Disgusted and wondering why the hell I was holding a dead starfish, I snapped out of my drunken stupor. My eyes dried up and all thoughts of Larry vacated my mind. I dropped him into the nearest ash tray and Rachel followed my lead in walking away as quickly as possible. On the way home a strange thought came to mind, one that I would look back on for years to come. “Rachel, I wonder what the waitress who found Larry must be thinking?”

Graduation

My apologies that this is not a real entry. Tomorrow morning I finally get my Bachelors degree after all this time. I have to wake up early and something doesn't feel right. I'm not as excited as I should be just nervous and wondering why I agreed to put myself through it.
Any ways - sneak peak at tomorrows story:
Bored with nothing to do, two young girls venture out for a night on the town only to have it end in murder...

Apologies of a Teenager in Cyprus

These short stories are an apology to my liver and any one else who may have been damaged by the events that took place on the Island of Cyprus during the early years of this millennium, including my parents, grandparents, future offspring, starfish, friends and another vital organs or body parts.
Please note that whilst partially auto-biographical these stories are subject to artistic licence and any characters that bare description to real-life people are simply an accident - Not really, its all true... or is it?

Turning 17

When you’re growing up away from your parents there are many things you hope never happen to you. When you are growing up away from your parents in an odd country like Cyprus there are many things that must never happen to you, and it’s funny how plans borne of the greatest ideas can lead to, in hindsight, ones that are flawed at best. Andrei Brechkovsky, a close friend of mine, was celebrating his 17^th birthday. Its a cliché to say the Russians like a drink but Mr Brechkovsky liked a drink. Two drinks. Thirty. And proposed for this most historic of birthdays, seventeen being the year you are allowed to drive a motorbike and claim your freedom, a 24 hour party in the park Drink-a-thon.

Rachel and I got there fairly early given the time frame, cracked open a beer at one in the afternoon and watched on as the birthday boy dowsed himself in alcohol. We watched him tear the wrapping paper off of booze and cigarettes, stationary and an elephant dung paper weight. Standard gifts you give each other when you’re a teenager. We sang and danced and learned all about Russian folk music.

Drinking so heavily in the middle of the day is something that most adults tend to avoid. And that’s because they know something teenagers don’t. It’s almost a right of passage on the fateful day that you learn your lesson. Not only can your liver not process alcohol as quickly so you get drunker, but beer, famous for not taking its time to travel through the human body, hurries itself along faster in the daytime. Frantically we looked for a toilet but the only ones in the park were closed. So in one moment of complete desperation we picked our trees. It was only Rachel’s luck that she picked the perfect cover from the main path. A large towering tree, hollow in the middle. She emerged relived and proud only to discover that behind the ideal tree of her choice was a house and as luck would have it the occupants were home. Something that to this day I have never let her forget.

As it got darker the evening carried on and more people came to wish our dear friend the happiest of birthdays.  A group of us sat down in a circle to prepare for the drinking games I had brought along. Jake spent the most ridiculously lengthy time slaughtering a half a dozen lemons and wasting most of them in the process, deeming them not up to his bar tending standards. We opened a bottle of tequila I had been saving for such an occasion. Brought from Chile by a friend of my father’s, it was a rare tequila, laced with chillies. Several shots in I wandered aimlessly over to the wall of the locked amphitheatre in the park and stared over through some fencing, like you do. It took me sometime to focus but I could see blue lights. Like a messenger in distress I circulated through the crowd warning them that I had seen moving lights. No one listened. In all fairness my credibility was lacking. Convinced that I was drunk and hallucinating everyone went on enjoying the party. So I assumed everything must have been fine and continued doing my thing.

I don’t know quite how much time had passed, or how the others had finally been alerted to the news but, ever so subtlety, a party goer approached our group. We were lying on our backs watching the stars blur into each other across the sky. “Run.” No particular tone. No emotion. No panic. Just “Run.”

Christina, Rachel and myself followed Mark thinking he would clue us in to what was going on, certain that a man so calm must know what he’s doing. Jake, who in a fit of panic completely forgot about his girlfriend Christina, took off in the opposite direction with one of Andrei’s other friends, Ivan. In my drunken panic, my underage mind thought of nothing but reliving myself of any evidence that we had been drinking. It hadn’t occurred to me that I smelt like an American sorority girl on spring break. I threw the tequila into the bushes but pushed the drinking games to the bottom of my bag, unable to part with them. We ran as quickly as we could through the park towards the main road. Half way along we stopped to regroup. Some of the others had caught up and Christina had gotten a broken phone call from Jake. Out of the dark green grass we saw a figure in the distance. We turned off our torches and stood frozen.

When you’re 16 years old and you think your going to be arrested the first thing that comes to mind is how your parents will react. When you’re 16 years old, about to be arrested and your parents are in another country, you wonder how your guardian grandparents will react. It’s hard to say how two Cypriots in their early 80’s with specific ideas about how a young lady should present herself, would react to their 16 year old granddaughter being arrested at 10:30 in the evening for drinking in a public park. They were going to kill me. And then they were going to call my father. And then I’d be on the first plane back to England. And then he would kill me. Shaking in my flip flops, my mind searched for answers. I needed a game plan. There were so many choices. Should I tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Should I lie? Would I get caught lying? If I got caught lying would it make the situation worse? If I told the truth would I be ridiculed by my peers for not at least trying to lie? Great! Panic and peer pressure. What a wonderful combination. I could feel my brain dancing the same way my bladder had been dancing that afternoon.

The figure in the distance got closer. It turned out to be Jake. Huffing and puffing with a huge grin on his face he emerged from the darkness and I had never been happier to see his face. The story he told was shocking. He had seen things you couldn’t imagine. In the wilderness he learnt of the harsh world we were living in and he had emerged a free man and more enlightened than he could have ever wished to be. Well, sort of, I exaggerate. He managed to get away. Ivan and him had been stopped and searched. Once they had realised that Jake was in fact Cypriot they became more interested in the other young lad. They barely looked into his bag but decided to take Ivan in for questioning. Jake saw an opportunity and snuck off.

As angry as we were about the whole situation it seemed like the police were moving in a different direction and nothing was going to happen to us that night. We weren’t going to stick around and find out. We sat in the bakery outside the park and watched the squad cars that had been looking for us drive home to their bitter, ignored wives.

Andrei’s night turned out to be quite different. He returned to the scene of the party to cover up his bike. Still with no actual licence or insurance he couldn’t afford to have it identified. On his way back the police stopped him and he was taken in as well. In his bag the police discovered some pills. Andrei suffers from hay fever as well as several other allergies. But the police kept them just in case. He had birthday presents on him too. A carton of cigarettes. The police kept them too. He was underage and they’d fetch a pretty buck at the next police auction, if the officers didn’t smoke them themselves. And a suspicious brown clump of soil and hay preserved in a bulb of thick glass. The arresting officer turned his harsh eyes towards the boy and asked brutally, “What is this?” And Andrei, truthfully and honestly turned to the man who had ruined his birthday and replied, “Shit. It’s shit.” For reasons that cannot be explained they kept the shit and all.