𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➢ JOHNNY ROTTEN

SEVEN

Earlier that day, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the record shop, Marion's mundane routine was interrupted by Sid's visit. His presence, always a catalyst for unpredictability, brought a spark of excitement to the monotony of her day. With a casual nonchalance, Sid had extended an invitation to Marion, a spur-of-the-moment plan to hit the town with him, John, and a few others. John had recently returned to London after playing shows in Paris. Marion, never one to turn down an adventure, had laughed and agreed without a second thought.

Now, in the heart of a dingy club she'd already forgotten the name of, the air thick with the scent of sweat and beer, Marion found herself in a world far removed from the orderly rows of records and the quiet hum of her day job. The evening unfolded like a kaleidoscope of conversations and introductions as Marion was ushered into the world of John and Sid's friends.

First, there were the "Four Johns": John himself, Sid (whose real name was also John), John Wardle (or 'Jah Wobble' as Sid and John fondly called him, a nickname born from a drunken mispronunciation), and John Grey. They were a quartet, each John distinct yet united by a common thread.

She had also met members of the Bromley Contingent, a term that seemed to encompass a collective of individuals, including names like Siouxsie Sioux, Debbie Juvenile, and Steve Chaos. They were a group, each uniquely contributing to the tapestry of the scene unfolding around them.

Chrissie was there too, a familiar face in the crowd. There was something about Chrissie that resonated with Marion—perhaps it was her toughness, or maybe the way she seemed to float between worlds, belonging to none yet claiming all as her own.

Marion learned more about Chrissie as the night progressed. She discovered that Chrissie played guitar, her life a journey that spanned from Akron, Ohio, to London, and even lived in Paris. There was a restlessness in Chrissie that Marion found both intriguing and familiar. It was the restlessness of a soul seeking its place in the world, a constant search for something that always seemed just out of reach.

John had shared with Marion how Malcolm and Vivienne, figures central to the scene, didn't quite approve of Chrissie, despite her working in their shop. For John, that was reason enough to forge a friendship, a rebellious alliance against perceived authority.

As the night went on, Marion found herself increasingly adrift in this sea of connections and histories. Each interaction, each conversation, was a reminder of how vast and intricate this world was. She felt like an outsider looking in, her presence there more a stroke of luck than belonging.

She found herself at the bar, waiting for her drink as she drummed her fingers against the surface. The bartender finally slid a pint of beer towards her, its amber liquid promising a momentary escape. She collected her drink and as she turned, her movement was abruptly halted by a collision that almost sent her drink flying.

"Christ," Marion exclaimed, steadying herself and her precious cargo.

She looked up to find John, his eyes crinkled with amusement. "You alright there?"

Marion let out a laugh, more out of relief than humour. "Yeah, thanks," she replied, a wry smile playing on her lips.

"You didn't spill it this time," John teased, reminding her of their previous encounter.

Marion rolled her eyes, a mock grimace on her face. "Thanks for the reminder. I'll add 'not spilling beer' to my list of life achievements."

"Could be the most impressive one yet," John quipped.

Feigning pride, Marion lifted her chin slightly. "I strive for excellence in all areas of my life," she declared, "especially alcohol retention."

John nodded solemnly, playing along. "It's a noble pursuit," he agreed.