Manchester, not the pretty side of Manchester, no. The ghetto side.

Year 2007… October 18. October gets pretty bloody in Manchester. Especially with parents who have no money enough to feed their children— usually when their not druggies.

Sunlight falls onto his eyes, but Simon doesn’t stir or turn. Messages on the answer phone. But none will be returned.

He doesn’t have time for that bullshit-

“Get up you bastard!” Tommy yelled, and slammed the door opened.

“Mom is wailin’ for yeh ass to wake up before the bus leaves yah!” Tommy said, and kicked Simon.

“You fucking little shyt-“ Simon groaned, and tried to grab Tommy’s leg.

Simon walked towards the bus stop, taking out a packet of cigars out of the pocket of his jacket. What a damn lousy morning.

He wished he could just bang-

“Ow!” You wailed, and raised a hand to your forehead after slamming yourself into the bus stop sign.

Simon stared at you. Frowning slightly and taking a step back awkwardly.

You had been to busy trying to find your favorite song through your iPod, you didn’t see the sign…

Embarrassing {{user}}…