FLYING through this book and hopefully will come back from vaycay with tons more.
So, an excerpt:
I worked mechanical animal in Vale for a year, flipping ponyburgers at a cheap little place called the applebite, before I discovered that my brother George wasn’t dead.
It happened like this.
It was a fryday, and we were serving a crowd of sinheads and screamers before they hit the clubs. Most of the scene is rivets and latex and verycherry fashion. The screamers were all on tabs so they were chill, drooling into their plates of fries and just generally being all zombified. But there’s this one guy sitting at the counter and he looks nothing like the others. He’s dusty and dirty and his hair is long but not cool. It’s plaited back out of his face, and the skin at the edges of his face is grimy. He’s scrubbed, but there’s something about the black sprinkle of his pores that tells you he’s never really going to get clean because whatever it is he’s done, wherever he’s been, it’s just about been burnt right into him.
A traveling man. You hear about them, of course, and people say they’ve met one – at the clubs or just slumming about the city – but no-one really really believes. Why would you want to walk out into the storms that circle the city, just for the shot at walking into the next shit-hole?
He’s wearing black gear, with a SolidRubber logo stamped into the shoulder, so I guess he’s either really for real, or he’s just got a fuckload of credit to be able to poseur that chill.