I was 22 when Ruth made me a badge that said "shit christmas." Like most of us she was temping, doomed to stay; to say yeah honestly I'm still searching but i've been so busy working the rush. She was so obviously worthy that they came around to tell her early and we all knew but pretended not to when they told us. They'd convinced her she deserved it. Said "If you can survive this christmas, you can survive anything" "even on what we're offering."Held a secret party in the staff room but like most of us, she was let go by June. But that October thru December we were perma-lit. Worked 7 days a week and went out 3. Earned our keep and lost it so easily. We'd come down together as the dawn hit and wonder where our wages went. Nursed hangovers on shop speakers, vowed not to repeat it then repeated, and then remembered how our wages got spent. But I remember coming up on Bull St at midnight, goosebumps popping up in the rain with a 7am opening and a whole evening stretching out, glowing, in front of me. Thinking "I kinda don't want this to ever end". I kinda don't want this to ever end. All that uncertainty. The panic and the poverty. All of that drama and I still don't. Got some success and stability and I still won't. Cos that's how they get ya. How they sell you nostalgia. Insulting yr memories at the precise point when you were just ...potential. Treat the you now as the end result. The finished eventual. Like, who are they to say when anything really, actually, really ends? She said "That'll be the drugs talking, my friend. If yr getting more I'll take some and whilst I do like to to take them, I can't take dealing with guys with an addiction." I was like; "welcome to the family, yr so gonna fit in". Three other friends in that scene on the top of Dale End. One lives in Devon, the second died in London, and the third I'm ashamed to say I can't remember. I've got these weird details instead. The flashing green and the red. My pulse, quickening. The silver and gold of the streetlamp reflected on the fresh ice, glistening. The sound of the christmas lights, blinking. Franchises in the festive rush are no place for fresh romance but almost everyone got with almost everyone. God knows we tried our luck in actual clubs with strangers but we took actual drugs with dangers; anything beyond a hug was beyond us. The only ones who'd fuck us were the ones who thought they could save us and in those kind of clubs, that kind of cool was a fucking statement. Ruth was blameless. She said "Those boys wanna be Jon Spencer but they don't got the flavor." Or "That kid wants to be Frank Black but he's not even fat." And "You, you wanna be in Carter but yr so stoppable it's just hopeless. Shit christmas." Shit christmas, what else is new? I went to my staff party, stayed till they played Fairytale of New York and I thought, yeh, that's my cue. And the scene reminded me of you. Cos the boys wanna be the choir but they're more like the drunk tank, and you were the bells, always ringing yourself out, and just because you know the words, Birmingham, doesn't mean you gotta sing em. Hey hometown I am thru. I miss my girlfriend and the bed we sleep in and I'm gonna go see them. Shit christmas, what else is new? I got what I wanted, hope you do too.

Your heart has filed a tired complaint. The last honest organ has an earnest point to make. A coalition of muscles coerced the guts to let it go. Are not all hearts hollow? Let the blood flow And everyone will know. Your stomach says it has grown sick. If you think yr heart is empty, you should see the state of this. You only swallow pride. Pretend you didn't care, time just hangs like dust in air. It coats yr throat And everyone will know That you loved him so He fooled you for Christmas Your eyes look like they're wanna quit. Streaked and seen too much to see the point of this. They say they're gonna go on strike, blank out everything you like so this won't show. And everyone will know How you loved him so He fooled you for Christmas Now all those gifts are worthless.