The Job Centre’s a funny place with a misleading title, what’s most misleading about it, is in the name. It should be called the ‘Benefit Club,’ or the ‘Crack Head Convention,’ even the ‘Single Baby Mother Communal’ would be a more fitting dub. Getting a job in a Job Centre is like getting a prostitute in a convent, you probably will end up getting one if you wait long enough but you’ll be waiting a long time, it’s not going to be nice, and everyone will frown upon you for committing such an atrocious act. Dean was all too familiar with the Job Centre etiquette, striding confidently through the transparent automated doors, walking towards the ticket machine he yanked out the paper ticket then sat on a worn faded Job Centre chair, waiting for his number to flash on the digital display screen above the Employment Advisors cage. The instant his number appeared Dean sprang to attention, marched over to the cage and immediately began shouting.
“I lost my job, I need housing benefit and jobseeker allowance now! I’ve got no food in my fringe.” He yelled angrily, as if his predicament was specifically this young lady’s fault. He knew shouting was the key to success in an establishment such as this.
He yelled even louder and more aggressively. “I need my benefits, am entitled to them. I know my rights!’’
“There’s no need to shout.’’ The Employment Advisor replied. “What is your National Insurance Number?’’
“AC 12 34 56 O.’’ Dean clamoured, trying to not laugh, as people began turning their heads in his direction. He passed her some documentation. Then shouted again at the young lady who he just observed nametag read ‘Rachael.’
“Is this gonna take long Rachael?” Dean shouted putting emphasis on her name so that the entire Job Centre was now fully aware whom she was. She skimmed through the presented paperwork and began hurriedly typing away onto her keyboard. Dean’s shouting obviously induced the desired effect.
“Back to signing on.” Dean grimaced.
Now the thing about the Job Centre is, it is the one place in every neighbourhood where all the low life congregate. I mean everybody knows you can’t get a job there, you can however get anything else, whether it be; drugs, weapons, sex, whatever. The local drug dealers know the dates the crackheads get their money and guarantee they’re there to collect. Baby-mums go to the Job Centre to get their benefits and complain to fellow baby-mothers about their what-less baby-fathers. Then there’s the broke down and outs, some of whom have been signing on for so long that they’ve lost all sense what the word ‘job’ in job seekers allowance relates to.
Dean left the building feeling a sense of pride in being dealt with so quickly. The second he stepped out of those sliding glass doors, he heard a vaguely familiar croaky voice.
“Oi blood Wa-blow?”
Dean instinctively turned round to locate the direction of the voice, and there stood Piffy, back leant against the brick wall, arms crossed at his waist, Black Panther’s afro comb poking out from his mini afro. He stood at 6.3ft with a slim muscular frame, black dark skinned complexion, with defined symmetrical facial features. Today as usual he was sporting black everything; black jeans, black trainers, black t-shirt, black baseball cap, this was his uniform most days. He joked that he was always ready for his opps funeral. Piffy was the type of guy that would make the average white person not only cross the road to avoid him, but take a fifth-teen minute scenic detour around the block. ‘Piffy’ which was his nickname originated from the form of drugs he sold. In the hood if a certain drug is of a strong potency it is referred to as being the ‘Piff,’ from which derived the nickname Piffy, as he took pride in proclaiming he sold the strongest drugs on the streets, whether it be: crack, E’s, sniff, or weed he had it or could get it.
“Wa Gawan blood, ain’t seen you in time, what’s good?’’ Dean replied giving the false appearance of being pleased to see him, whilst inwardly trying to conceal his real feelings which were. “Shit my first day back at signing on and look who I’m bumping into already.”
“Man, just come out of Bing blood! Last week but am back on this ting. I got the piff.’’ Piffy said smugly laughing.
“Skeen, drop me your number and I’ll holla at you.’’ Dean replied trying to make his getaway.
“Yea course blood, but what you on though? I thought you were a working man now?’’ Piffy said, ignoring Dean’s effort to escape.
“Yeah, I tried the work ting blood, but it’s not cutting it, so am just signing on right now for the meantime until I get something better. Tryna do this music ting, really.’’ Dean said, easing up his tone on recalling Piffy wasn’t the bad guy his outer exterior may have miss-portrayed.
“Yeah blood I know workings long, do this, do that, yes sir master, how high can I jump. Blood its modern day slavery.’’ Piffy said with his natural air of confidence.
“You hit the nail on the head.’’ Dean replied, nodding in agreement.
“If you ain’t on anything blood come we go park bun this zoot (spliff), I ain’t seen you in ages.”
Dean and Piffy made their way to park, chatting about life, filling each other in on the events which transpired since their last encounter.
“What happened to Dan blood, you two used to be tight in college?’’
“Blood didn’t you hear?’’ Piffy replied, simultaneously pulling out his pre-rolled spliff from his jacket pocket.
“He went mad blood, he totally lost it!”
Piffy lit the head of the zoot, inhaling deeply and blowing out a puff of smoke.
“The last time I saw him must have been a good couple year’s back. I was going down Oxford Street doing some shopping. I must of seen him sitting by the water fountain on the corner of Tottenham Court Road, you know, right by the Centre Point Tower?
Piffy pasted the spliff to Dean.
“Anyway, I see him and after I never saw him for a while I got off the bus to say Wa Gawan you get me? I noticed his clothes were kinda dirty but thought fuck it, so I walked over to him. Dan must of looked at me, took one step back, froze, stared right into my face, then jumped off the wall and started running down Oxford Street like a madman. The way he fled you would of thought the feds were chasing after him or something. Blood I never knew whether to laugh or cry, it’s deep.”
Dean looked down saddened by Piffy news of their old friend seemingly gone mad. He drew the zoot in deeply.
“He weren’t no waste-man you get me, he was doing things. It’s sad blood. The wickest thing is that it’s not just him, you wouldn’t believe how many man’dem have gone mad since college days. It’s this life Cuz, from the food, to the air that we breathe, it’s contaminated, it’s not a joke out here. You need to stay focus or risk losing it. Life in the west is not for the original man. Unless you stay woke, you’re gonna get caught sleeping.’’
Dean and Piffy continued to chat for a while until they were both high, then exchanged numbers on going their separate ways. “He weren’t joking about that weed.” Dean thought, so high almost forgetting he no longer had a job.
On arriving home he went straight to his drawer of snacks, snuffed down the last packet of crisp and fell asleep on his sofa with talk radio playing in the background. He woke up hours later still feeling the effects of Piffy’s weed, evoking him to roam hungrily about his kitchen in pursuit of finding something edible. He stared into an empty fringe as if contained an oasis of scrumptious delights, which disintegrated into thin air upon opening the fringe door.
“Am starving man!” He voiced to himself in frustration, feeling his stomach panging as only it does after smoking weed on an empty stomach. Not wanting to brave the cold, however realising he would have to. “That’s the thing about smoking weed, it makes you not want to do anything, just relax sleep and eat.” Dean looked for his house keys, turning things up and down around his flat. “That’s another thing about weed, the forgetfulness.” After a few minutes of haphazardly searching, he located them underneath his baseball cap and made his way to the shops.
The cold hit his face, but apart from that he was wrapped up fairly warm. He walked up the high street, the only options opened were the; chicken and chips restaurant and a kebab shop. Chicken and chips and kebab shops might not be the finest in gourmet cuisine, but at least they’re loyal to the night. Dean was sick of eating grease served with a side order of chips and meat, however constantly found himself resulting back to this unappetising menu due to his complete lack of culinary skills. “Kebab or chicken? To be or not to be, that is the question?’’ His phone rang as he considered the answer.
“What’s up blood, it’s me Piffy. That weed knocked me out, I just got up.”
“Me to blood, just woke up, tryna get something to eat.” Dean replied.
“Yeah blood, I got these chicks that buy food [drugs] off me, yeah. Well, she phoned me just now saying she’s with her friend and I should bring my friend, and we should hook up and go down there, she’s got her own yard and everything. I know that their hoes, they’ll do anything for a bit of food.”
“Okay sounds alright what do they look like though?’’ Dean enquired whilst trying to remember the last time he and Piffy met girls together.
“Well, am not sure about your one.’’ Piffy sniggered. “I don’t think I’ve seen her before, but my ones decent so her friend must be alright. They ain’t crack heads or nothing you get me. They just buy a bit of sniff off me.’’
“Ok so let’s make this happen Cuzzy.’’ Dean said eagerly, after all he never had work the next day.
“Cool what’s your address in it, text me and I’ll come pick you up. Oh yeah, bring a drink as well, Cuz.’’ Piffy added before hanging up.
Dean texted Piffy his postcode and finally succumbed to the choice of a donner kebab. He purchased a bottle of Alize from the off-license and went home to wait for Piffy. He barely finished eating before being interrupted by the droning buzzing of the intercom. “Every time it buzzes, it drives me crazy.’’ Dean thought, walking downstairs to let Piffy in.
“Nice yard blood’’ Piffy said as he strolled into the living room, observing from left to right.
Dean put his jacket on, sprayed some aftershave and the two friends made their way out. Piffy glanced at Dean, then stared at his slender looking car with dark-tinted windows, then looked back to Dean awaiting his response.
“Nice car mate.” Dean said obligingly.
“It’s an Alpha Romeo 2.0 JTS Coupe.” Piffy responded grinning like a proud father as he opened the doors. It was a nice car, and Piffy was certainly going to make Dean aware of it. As he inhaled a surged of breath, then delved into his spill as if he was being interviewed for a role on ‘Top Gear’ by Jeremy Clarkson.
“Electric Mirrors, Cruise Control, Multi-Function Steering Wheel, Air-Con, Power-Steering, naught to sixty in five seconds.’’
“Nice rims, what are they Eighteens?’’ Dean asked, trying to act as if he fully understood everything which Piffy had just relayed to him.
“Eighteens Cuz. Yeah blood, you know how I do.’’ Piffy giggled, as pleased as if he himself was directly involved in the vehicle’s design process.
With the manufacturer’s specifications out the way Piffy, turned on his radio using a remote control which instantly produced a deafening outburst of bass rendering the vocals barely audible, blurting out through the subwoofers. Piffy drove in and out the back streets of Hackney in what seemed to be a labyrinth of roads, hardly ever hitting a main road, hardly ever driving below forty mph. In a few minutes they reached their destination, a tall concrete block of flats in the middle of De Beauvoir Estate.
“Yo blood one thing you got to know about these girls, their dirty, so don’t be on no sweet boy ting. Simone and her other girlfriend last time sucked me off, blood it was crazy, two tongues moving like clockwork around my dick, you get me blood. They were drinking and on coke all night and when they got down to the last few lines of sniff, you know what I did blood?’’ Piffy asked, rather pleased with himself, nudging Dean on his shoulder.
Before Dean could even envision the image he was attempting to block out of his mind, Piffy continued.
“So I poured the line over my dick and they started sniffing it off blood, gangster, you know how I do.’’
This brief story although distasteful slightly aroused Dean, making him more eager to go and checkout these chicks for himself.
“I‘ll let you know this though blood, these chicks aren’t full blown crackheads but they do smoke a bit though, so be careful around them and don’t have them chatting no shit to you, you get me?’’
Those were Piffy’s solemn last words before approaching the sixteenth floored, seventies built tower block named Rozel Court. Piffy buzzed the intercom and waited for the girls to buzz them in. It was a typical council tower block standing drearily in the middle of its equally ugly siblings, looking like they should have been demolished at least twenty years ago. The girls buzzed opened the door and the two young men made their way up to the tenth floor, narrowly avoiding stepping in the pool of urine on the piss flooded lift floor.
Piffy walked into the flat first, Dean shortly followed.
‘‘Hi, what’s good girls?’’ Piffy swaggered into the hallway, pecking Simone on the cheek.
Simone was light skin with round-shaped hazel eyes, she was about 5.7ft and had curves in all the right places. She was wearing a green maxi dress out of which her bum and breast were fighting to be contained. Piffy cheekily grabbed her bum, looking over her shoulder to Dean, winking as if to say “I told you so.’’ Dean walked into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa, Piffy sat across from him while Simone went back into the kitchen.
“Where’s your girl at?’’ Dean probed.
“She’s in the bedroom getting ready and she’s got a name you know, I hope you’re ready for her.’’ Simone laughed, shouting from the kitchen. “Your so rude Piffy, you never introduced me to your friend.’’ She said in the sexiest, sweetest voice Dean had heard in a while. Dean sat there grinning like a child awaiting to unwrap his birthday presents, as he mentally envisioned what Simone’s friend looked like.
“I hope she ain’t ugly, pretty girls usually move about with other pretty girls so she should be okay if she’s anything like Simone. Then again, they always have that one butt ugly friend that tags along with them like a gatekeeper. Please don’t let it be the ugly gatekeeper.’’ Dean said to himself as he gazed at Simone’s soft, kissable caramel thighs.
“What’s taking her so long to get ready?’’ Dean asked, looking in the mirror across from him, making sure he was looking presentable. Licking the bit of dryness which formed on the corner of his lip and brushing his hair with his hand. He quickly turned to watch the TV as the bedroom door opened in an attempt not to appear too eager, but couldn’t help himself from shyly glimpsing towards the opening door. He looked from toe to head, everything went in slow motion like in a cliché movie scene when a stunning woman makes her first entrance, however in this case it wasn’t a stunning lady, well not in his eyes, anyway. Dean sight of vision incrementally rose up her spindly legs to her torso, past her shoulders, then above her stem of a neck, eventually settling on her face. It was Sarah’s face, it was Sarah, his sister standing there in front of him like a twisted illusion of herself.
Dean stood up, Sarah took a step backward, almost tripping to the floor.
Piffy interrupted the stillness by bluntly asking.
“What you two know each other?’’
She broke her statuesque like stance as Piffy words awoke Sarah out of a trance. Once freed from the initial paralyzing shock, she bolted for the front door, immediately pursued by Dean.
‘‘Sarah, Sarah.’’ He yelled behind her.
She ran furiously down the stairs, flying past each floor, barely stopping to catch a breath. “She’s’ still fast.” Dean thought almost out of breath, jumping down the stairwell, trying to catch up with her as the pair zigzagged down the stairway until they reached the ground floor. She pushed open the lobby doors open and exited the tower block into the cool night’s air.
“Sarah, where are you going? Stop running! Calm down for a second, what’s wrong with you?’’ Dean shouted after her.
“It’s me! Dean, your brother.”
Sarah hastily halted her pace like a dog reaching the end of its lead, she turned around with a blank, still stare, staring at Dean as if a million thoughts were colliding around in her brain, like a Hadron Collider of emotions. She froze for a second, looking as if she might suddenly launch into orbit, only instead of projecting vertically into the skies she ran horizontally into her brother’s arms in a fit of tears.
“Don’t worry.” Dean reassured her. “Don’t worry.’’ He said again. He himself confused and shaken by events, the two siblings stood wrapped in each other’s arms, solidly fixed against one another like fossils embedded on rock, in an unshakeable loving embrace, bare to the open night sky and concrete high-rise tower blocks in the middle of De Beauvoir Estate.
Dean’s phone rang it was Piffy.
“Am going home with Sarah, call you later blood.’’ Dean said abruptly, hanging up his phone. Looking at Sarah wilfully for her concurrence.
Brother and sister made their way to the Bus stop in silence, each mind gathering up more questions and answers than an episode of Mastermind. Dean had not seen his sister in years, and the last time he saw her, “well, that’s another story.” He quickly censored this thought out of his head before it could travel any further. “I need to start somewhere so I might as well stick to the basics.” He encouraged himself not knowing what to say, fearing an ill-conceived sentence would cause her to vanish into thin air like a spell cast by a fairy tale witch.
“Well, how have you been?’’ Dean broke the silence. He heard the unnaturalness of the words bundling out of his mouth. He sounded as if he was at a job interview.
“I’ve been through a lot Dean, a hell of a lot, sorry for not keeping in contact with you, sorry for last time. Times were hard, really hard.” Sarah said apologetically.
“Listen, Sis don’t say another word about last time, am just glad you’re here right now, you know I love you Sis, and mum loves you too. Sometimes it’s just hard for her to understand, she ain’t from the streets, she don’t know what it’s like, I mean I don’t even know what it’s like, I mean with the drugs.”
Sarah appeared hurt by the mention of ‘drugs’, awkwardly diverting her gaze away from her brother.
“Sorry forget it, but, but I just meant everyone worries about you and loves you a lot.” Dean mumbled out nervously.
Sarah wept into the sleeves of her blouse. The two siblings boarded the bus and sat side by side.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.’’ Sarah said, timidly smiling at Dean.
“I haven’t grown since the last time you saw me.” Dean replied smiling back at her, looking into Sarah’s dejected withdrawn face, knowing that his real sister was there somewhere behind those enlarged intoxicated pupils. She was there, just waiting to be found. She must be!
