The Grafters
I’ve followed you for two hours.
Across windswept beaches and deserted construction sites.
Through dark alleyways and smoky late-night cabaret bars.
Over highways where cars honk and zip past and across amusement parks burdened with people and noise.
I will have my man.
You scurry into a club on 6th with neon lights and a queue of impatient carousers outside.
And the suited, booted muscle on the door,
replaces the slack red rope, looks me up and down and says:
“Sorry mate. No trainers, no jeans. You’re not coming in with those on.”
END
Chris Boyd is 29 years old and originally from Chesterfield. He used to be in a band that no one listened to and then did some stand-up comedy that no one laughed at. He now writes short stories and is feeling marginally more optimistic.