A walk in Dalston, July 6, 2012

I go out ‘cos I can never sleep when I’ve been in the house all day.

I’m not drinking so I get a bottle of beer from the shop, just one. I don’t flick the lid, but wait until the bucket by a front door and flick it in there, it goes in really easy.

Then I walk up the street. I can’t afford to drink in any bars, and don’t want to go in them anyway. I want to stand outside, even though it’s not warm, just want to stand outside with a group and drink a beer. Then I’ll go home.  Two girls outside the Haggerston, smoking. Nah.

Powerlunches is empty. A single launch. I’ll never have a single launch. I’ll never launch anything. Keep walking. There’s a gang of black guys laughing, some hipsters sitting out the half closed front of one of those posh breakfast places.

I’m feeling calm, completely at ease. This is unusual for me, I’m usually thinking about something, worrying about something, thinking about what need to get done. But no, I’m completely relaxed walking. I can taste the beer, every last bit, its nice; it lingers at the back of my tongue.

Nothing for a while until Dalston Junction. A woman asks me where Stoke Newington is, I tell her the way and tell her to get a bus. She says she’s going to. Up and up Kingsland road to the Alibi, to the cinema, to Shacklewell Lane.

I cross, get another beer out the shop, the guy behind the counter is friendly. I drop the cap in the gutter. Walking down the street there’s lots of people on their way to places, looking trendy. Not really looking sexy, but all nearly laughing, leading their friends, leading their groups, going somewhere. Alibi, Superstore, whatever, it makes me feel nice, good, that they’re going somewhere.

I carry on down the opposite side from walking up until Junction then cross again. The police are talking to a boy and a girl. The girl is really small and walks off, one of the policemen with her, she’s saying something, sounds pissed off. The boy is by the car with the other policeman. A guy interrupts me watching to see if I want any ‘ecstasy’, or other ‘drugs’. I bet. No. Still calm, uninterrupted. I carry on walking.

I get back to where I bought the first beer and hand over £1.20 for another. This cap gets flicked indiscriminately. I’m not drinking. Only bottles. Bottles are so much better. And I walk home, and I rub my eyes. At least I left the house.