Say it's true. There's nothing like me and you.
January 1982
It all started a few years ago for you. Moving to Salford was a big step. Moving to university in Manchester was an even bigger one. After learning that no one in the West Midlands wanted to teach you a career in creative writing, Manchester was your last resort.
Packing your bags, leaving friends and family behind you it was the biggest step in your life. But if you wanted to follow your dreams then it was the way to go.
Your parents were upset but they understood. A natural flair to write that you couldn't suppress had to be let out somewhere, but the times had become pretty dark. The conservative government and prime minster had made many people suffer and some even had talks of strikes. This became true in the next few years.
When you first moved into that dismal little house on the north side of Salford, everything seemed quite dingy. You got a little job at a small record store down the street.
Soon things changed. You remember it like it was yesterday. A short, slim figure walked into the store with you stood behind the desk and ever so casually, managed to knock over the Punk 7 inch singles display with ease. This only made you laugh. A quick glance at you and the man just said 'well shit'.
His short but thin frame was outlined by his black leather jacket, drainpipe grey jeans and grandfather cardigan with a pale pink shirt underneath. Not forgetting the suede mockersons.
You wandered over and helped him to pick up them and he smiled at you with his big chocolate orbs, of eyes and messily styled dark brown hair.
This was, and still is your best friend Johnny. But you didn't know that then.
After that you and Johnny were practically inseparable. Record shopping, concerts, each other's houses.
He was in a band with his friends, Andy, Mike and Stephen who liked to be called by his last name Morrissey- you were still trying to figure out wether he liked you or not. Johnny on countless occasions to teach you things on his Gibson ES 335.
You taught him how to write stories and do things you could do like collage and paint. That dismal flat was soon yours and Johnny's canvas and it got painted and collaged very fast.
Johnny's band took off well. Really well actually, they're called The Smiths. Your degree at university was well under way. Then you met Freddie. A blonde bombshell that you fell for like some idiot and Johnny had to watch helpless from the sidelines staring at the little patches on his mockersons. Little did you know he felt more for you than he let on.
And that leads you right up to where you were now. You see you'd moved out of your dingy house that was by Johnny's and to Yorkshire where Freddie lived. But he soon turned out to be not the man you though he was. He was rude and mean. He slept around. And you knew. You were having none of it. But then said he would hurt you if you left him.
Trapped. With a man you hated. You wished you could be with Johnny. Johnny Marr, the man you really loved. And missed. He was probably somewhere in Manchester meeting people, talking about one of his favourite Rolling Stones albums. You felt as if you'd let him down. You chose some arrogant bastard over someone who would love you forever.
So you ran away. Freddie was out on a so called 'business meeting' at a local hotel. Yhea right. You packed a small bag, grabbed your Beatles records, denim jacket and ran. To hide away.
But would Johnny really want to help you now?
