[[sometimes underground walkways, other times private parking lots]]

[[sometimes underground walkways, other times private parking lots]]
 
We curled into each other,  
in the parking lot,  
hooked, lined and sinkered,
legs and arms and blankets
where electric lights and Mercedes cars  
stayed dry from the wet gloom of the city.  

He had a bottle of cheap cider,  
they had cigarettes, passed them 'round,
called me the 'Angel',
we found this place as it was an alley away
from the youth centre we went as kids
when we had nowhere else to go.

With no one else to listen,
they taught me about contraception,  
the staff at the youth centre, I mean -  
anger management, counselling,  
reading and writing the blues,
to alleviate the unpleasantness of pain.  

They showed us how many of us there are,
gave us each other,
lost souls, crushed spirits,
able to huddle and hold.  
We all came with a story, you see,
a shattering to shed.

One had lost his father,
another's was in prison,
one had been attacked,
one was hurt at home.  
Some were too caged
to let out what their truths were -

I think I was one of them  
back then, I think I tried,
we all tried. We were loveless
and yet we loved, ferociously feral -
beasts barking in the night.

Later the riot van rolled up,  
we were drunk, and underage
and no one had come to act as guardian
so there they were, all in black,
here to disperse the wolves
and so we ran, gave chase,

howled - we split
off into all directions,  
ran for our small-lunged lives.
I don't remember being asked
where I'd been when I got back.
I don't remember feeling like it was home at all.