the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 67: City Lights, London Nights

Waterfall,
Don't ever change your ways;
Fall with me for a million days,
Oh, my waterfall...

- "May This Be Love" Jimi Hendrix, 1967

Most people who grew up in London had a hard time seeing the magic in it. Like Remus, they saw the Underground only for its horrible rush hour and poorly-lit stations. They thought of streets like Carnaby as crowded tourist-traps and never really got excited about much of anything. But for newcomers like Sirius, who were just itching to sink their teeth into anything street-cultured, London might as well have been the promised land. It was all new, from the shops and streets, to the people that filled them. It went without saying that Sirius had never been on the tube before. He'd also never hailed a cab for himself, or gotten lost on a backstreet. Sirius had never had to step over a morning drunkard's vomit outside a Chinese place that looked scummy but actually had amazing wonton soup. He'd never scattered pigeons in Hyde park, or eaten a kebab from a street vendor along Portobello, or haggled amongst the stalls of Brick Lane, and he'd certainly never strolled into a random pub to catch a pint and a friendly game of snooker.

For all intents and purposes, Sirius was a complete city-virgin, but perhaps the strangest thing to Remus was that Sirius had never spat on the pavement.

"I just don't get it. What's the appeal?" Sirius asked, as they made their way down the street. Row houses rose up on either side of them, decorated with brick and iron fences, all overgrown with ivy and ragged thorn bushes. They'd just crossed over into Clifton Hill after walking a good twenty minutes from the station. Neither of them made a fuss, for a young boy in 1977, anything under five miles wasn't worth the whinging.

"I can't just tell you," Remus said, "it's like a cultural thing. You do it with the lads."

"Sounds like a more disappointing jerk-circle."

Remus shoved him, making Sirius lurch sideways into the road as he sniggered. Stopping to wait for him, Remus dodged a young mum pushing her baby in a pram and crossed his arms over his chest. "Go on, try it then," he prompted.

Sirius eyed the pram that had just passed. "You mean now? In public?"

"S'long as it doesn't offend your pretty little manners."

Sirius scowled and Remus waved the comment off. "Here, watch me." Stopping in the middle of the pavement, he hocked back a large wad of saliva and spat it in the direction of the road. He managed to clear about ten feet—almost a new personal record—and when he turned to Sirius he found him clapping blithely.

"And who says the hooligan doesn't have any talents."

"You go then," Remus urged. Sirius sighed and reached up to scratch his head beneath his cap, before making a noise deep in his throat as though he were trying to clear it.

"That's it," Remus said, "gotta dig deep. Doss always told me to imagine like you'd just swallowed a spoonful of cough syrup. But you're going for distance not size, so—"

Sirius turned on him. "Can you shut up, I just swallowed it!"

Remus backed away. "Sorry, my bad. Take your time."

Taking a deep breath, Sirius wiggled his jaw around, looking distinctly concentrated. When he threw his head back Remus almost thought he was gonna do it, but what came out was a pitiful spit wad that just barely cleared the tip of his trainers.

"Sirius, that was... Well, it was just sad actually."

Sirius wiped his mouth. "It's gross."

"Nah—well, maybe—but you're not getting enough momentum. Come 'ere."