Going Downtown
Going downtown was pre-drinking, save money, buy confidence.
Going downtown was queuing outside Walkabout, a drunken reality show.
Going downtown wasn’t a release, but a rite of passage.
Going downtown was therapy.
Going downtown was meeting the new love of your life each week.
Going downtown was hoping not to see your ex, yes.
Going downtown was a snakebite-drunkenshotgun.
Going downtown was receiving mixed messages from a checkout girl.
Going downtown was violence in the kebab.
Going downtown was tactical puking in the dance floor corner.
Going downtown was in the smoking area.
Going downtown was your dad’s homemade wine, rollups, blackout time.
Going downtown was getting with the same guy but not knowing why.
Going downtown was being fished out the crowd by a tribal tattooed bouncer.
Going downtown was a new shirt, old shoes, no service for you.
Going downtown was getting a spray of Joop in the toilet for a quid.
Going downtown was waking up to someone else’s kids.
Going downtown was macho bravado, too much self-esteem.
Going downtown was playing life on pause screen.
Going downtown was to get lost, be seen and found.
Alan McGuire is a former mental health nurse from Swindon. He currently lives in Madrid teaching English. He has previously had poetry published on the Culture Matters website and the Sideways Poetry Magazine. He has also written opinion articles and culture critiques for the Huffington Post, the Local, Madrid No Frills, Naked Madrid, Mundo Obrero and The Morning Star. His website is alanmcguire.com