i knew difficulties.

He checked his deportment first. Then he checked which pocket contained his coins, and which pocket contained his notes. He padded his buttocks, feeling the bulge of his keys in one pocket, mobile phone in the other.

A large neon-coloured sign offered 2 CHICKEN & CHIPS £1,00p. Silver-cobwebs obscured the myriad faces of a group of three youths of child-bearing age pacing about inside. Although he felt intimidated by young men, he composed an expression of distraction, as if pre-occupied with serious thoughts. Feeling assured, he raised his arm to the rattling red door and staggered through towards the counter.

For him: Number 3 meal boss.

He rested both arms on the high formica counter and stared at the contents of the number 3 meal, listed on a lit display above the hot display cabinet. No.3: 2 chicken chips and coke. His eyes scanned across the menu. His jaw dropped and he yawned heavily. A ringed paw rose and wiped his eye-ducts.

For him also: Can I get an apple pie bruv.

For no meal is complete without one. He pays and receives change. And sir saunters off to insert the change of a 5-00 pound note into a fruit machine that has not paid out since August 2003. The young men are themselves distracted in animated conversation. A solace peopled, as silence is burnt with the hot oily blubber of other brothers' blabber.

For the young men: brother! Here is your order!

Brother I have no brother. His brothers glare out of the window at the top decks of passing buses on the other side of the road. The bad boys sit at the back of the bus !

With loathing, his fried fingers reached down into a freezer and dragged out a blue bag of frozen potato fries. With loathing, he emptied the bag into the wire basked seeped in the festering oil of the vicious deep fryer. With loathing, the fryer growled, hissed and belched back as the basket was dropped in. With loathing, dregs of oil drained off, the tongs selected two sweaty sections of chicken flesh. With loathing, an American style! apple pie was picked from the display with the same tongs. With the same loathing, the tongs spat out remarkably inefficient for these times. The same long night yawned. The machine jingled and cooed like a giddy baby poking tiny podgey fingers into mama's ears.

The man: this machine has stolen my money !

Young man: crackhead y'know!

Crackhead: Lord witness this - my deportment is strange. I am a fat pastor. My heart is choked with a black bile which no vapour can correct. But I have been cheated.

Young man: jokehead! Ka ka ka!

Jokehead: Sirs! Please! Do not fear any indiscretion. I carry little change, and what little I had I inserted into this machine of misfortunes! Please do not disturb me. Pardon me, I am a little flustered. I can say with some certainty – am I not among friends – that I am a pastor of Christ Life Ministries. I aim to convert all heathens and sinners to the good news. My god is a wrathful one, and my belly roars like a lion on the eve of the final judgement day. Number 3! Hold on – Number 3 meal boss!

For the man: number 3 boss! Boss! Boss man! Number 3 meal boss!

Boss man: but wha-wabwouwt mwy mwommey! wa wa wa!

For the man: any salt boss?

Boss man: no no no! Not for me thanks, I am a dead man. [exits]

Young man: My heart would fain muster some cod-profound gesture.
But there is nothing inside of me, not even time
Which ever shapes and etches and erodes these bones;
So I say (and I do) nothing, except watch on
As the bedroom lamp flickers and the hours pass,
Days I barely register.

Fruit machine: Oh lord! Lord! Poetry is so gay – you know!

Young man [raises his voice several decibels and octaves]:
I keep the company of fools;
Friends I love, I bleed for. I claim no truth or honesty.
There is no truth or goodness in this age madam,
Only the cocksure blather of a million different yous
Stepping all over each others noses in order to.....
Nah shit! My fucking....my fucking's chips as got a hair in it!

[Curtain fold, as a volley of chips, ketchup sachets, mobile phones, churlish abuse and paper cups barrage against the formica counter and the loathsome man behind it]