120. White Rabbit

Cheered me up no end. I was expecting bleakness.

Repro Man - stories from a reluctant reprographer.

Rabbit had always been wild, a random kind of lad. He was spur of the moment, impulsive, a didn’t-think-just-did sort of kid. He was twitchy and funny and unhappy, growing his hair or shaving his head, getting tattooed and getting them covered up.
We’d go out drinking and clubbing, driving through the night to Nottingham or Newcastle on a whim in his battered Mini to go to the rock clubs and to fuck the rock chicks, relying on getting a shag to get somewhere to kip. Sometimes we pulled, sometimes we woke cold and crumpled, folded untidily into the damp leatherette of the Mini’s interior, watching grey dawn break through the crumbling concrete slabs of a multi-story car park.
We took a lot of speed and did a bit of acid, we’d neck Mad Dog 50/50 before dancing like idiots to get the lasses laughing.
He took me to a…

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120. White Rabbit

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