Ten Storey Love Song Read Online Free PDF Page B

in her head, then puts on her shoes and clomps out of the flat. She wibbles her bottom as she goes up the stairs, even though no one’s watching, and she feels a million dollars or maybe a million pound depending on the exchange rate. When she lets herself into 6D everyone’s sat around doing laughing gas, jibbering about like mental patients at a kids’ birthday party. Whoosh laugh whoosh laugh whoosh laugh. Ellen says her hellos then sits on a pile of floppy deflated balloons, all multicoloured and pretty amongst the Super Skols and the ashtrays getting passed around with reefers on top of them. She takes a toot or two, and a can of lager magically walks into her hand from across the carpet. Angelo’s there on the sofa arm (the boy who rents the flat), happily handing out drinks and whizzing the whip-cream cartridges into life in his dirty paws. Everyone’s faces turn alabaster as they take up lungfuls of the stuff, some of them giggling like wet nellies and others tripping off a cliff into hippy heaven as the gas roly-polys round their system. Mandy perches cross-legged next to Dave Morton (the professional footballer brought up on Premier Road), completely chewing his ear off with her tales of owning a racehorse and riding it to victory in the Grand National. She seems to have lost her marbles over the years – perhaps it’s down to nailing speed every day, although she always was a random cunt when she was at secondary school with Pamela and Ellen. Pamela looks on at Mandy with glazed disgust because she wants to get into Dave herself, but apart from that she’s enjoying blowing balloon after balloon into her air-pipes. Angelo likes to impress the girls and he sets them up with doublers, passing Ellen a big juicy watermelon-size one. After a count of one-two-three, they start sucking blowing sucking blowing sucking blowing with their cheeks going big and red like trumpet players, and for twenty seconds the happy happy hardcore core’s all repetititititive like a stuck stuck rec rec ord ord the squeaks squeaks of the balloooooooons are all birds all birds flying ing over over head head with Ellellellellellellellellellen riding a fire fire engine ing a fire engine through pink pink pine forest pink fire engine and then then there’s monkeys monkeys top top hats top hats top hats evil cackling cackle-cackle and and then then the cackle hissssing of ssssnakes no the hissing of balloons deflating and then she’s back in the flat again. ‘Fuck,’ she says. Funny how laughing gas doesn’t really make you laugh – it sends you to an altogether much weirder place. Ellen feels all shaken up and sober, and she curls up on the sofa cradling her knees. She makes a full-blown attempt next to get drunk, pilfering more lagers and big shots of vodka from people too busy dreaming to notice. Soon everyone’s monged – some of them start acting horny, retreating back to their quarters to shag their knobs and fannies off with each other; others are just dead bodies. Mandy slurps Dave’s lips off like a cream bun. Dave hasn’t played a professional match for about a month (he got tackled from behind by a butch cunt from Carlisle), and he’s quite enjoying all the time off getting wrecked on the sly. He’s the sort of boy who thinks one sniff of NO 2 would send him insane for the rest of his life, but he’s known Angelo since they played for Marton as youngsters and he still likes coming round for a can or two. Dave actually looks quite fucked, nodding off to the smurf-voice hardcore stuff, but Mandy’s full of beans and drags him down the hall to fuck the hell out of him in her bare crusty bedroom. Pamela watches them leave over her sparkly blue bottle of Spectra, and she starts getting depressed and falls in a heap on Angelo’s burgundy settee, with a full balloon of NO 2 clamped between her fingers. Suddenly the balloon flies from her hand, farting a trail of laughing gas that makes all the dust particles giggle, and