Bus 134
Highbury Corner 1:35am the nighttime economy where dick-pics are currency, suggests to me we need to bring back lobotomy, Calvin Klien clones and testosterone goons don’t mix 134 Bus Arrives 1:42am there’s too many ‘Brads’ kicking up a fuss on the top deck of the night bus, you can spot the jar-head haircuts from a mile off, well, that’s me fucked, I look like a young Bob Dylan in a world full of Bob Vylans, fake gangsters, ‘ two bob ’ rappers, rich kids ransacking the fried chicken shop, faces buried in their takeaway box, jostling, jiving eyeing up the easy meat as they make their way home to easy street, Mummy’s left the key under the doormat but we ain’t quite there yet and nobody needs to know that Holloway Road 1:56am the bus, it stops on Holloway road, the few pubs I know are about to close, all but one, it’s a real shitty dive it’s touch and go if you’ll ...
