Bridie – Final Draft – Zine Edit

6 Jul


Welcome, baby.

Come inside! Don’t be shy.
Prepare to have your limits tried.
No regrets provided. It’s just a bit of fun*
*comes a touch lopsided.

This way, honey.

Find custard pies on your right,
savage rides to your left.
No need to fantasize, sweetie.
All you have to do is ask.

And pay. With cash.

Tonight’s a circle dance ‘round you, baby.
Prepare for streams of sweat. Yes, we
will slurp your flow like hot coffee.
Listen, if there’s anything you need…

You want a drink, baby?

Have a beer and scratch the bottle frost, but
careful of the table cloth. If one drop falls,
the lights go off. And we’re underground.
So be good, boy. Play nice, guy.

There’s luck on your side, honey.

We felt it. And we were right. You hit it like “Bull’s eye!”
High striker. Chip stacker. Tower topper.
Rolling so fast, if you stopped,
you could claim for whiplash.

Let’s do this again sometime, baby.


Polka-dot lights – my stars in a smoke sky.
So hypnotising, they pierced
through brain matter,
carved through the chatter of my own
shattered promises, my sludgy hope
and workshy honesty.

Every time, steel-muscle-thick thighs
crushed my bones into gelatin sweets.
Every time I’d add just One. More. Chip.
to a towering stack, I reeled back
every woman, every laugh and dream that
departed when I missed my targets.

The Tunnel of Love ended in no time and I,
still strapped to my seat on a Ghost Train ride,
locked looks with gnarling clowns disguised
as smirking dealers with bloodshot eyes
and they plucked Every. Last. Coin.
from my naked, gushing palm.

Even when every butterfly,
collected in wallet,
had flown away,
I caught more because
I needed to play,
to win, to chase.


That empty table cloth was cheap astro turf.
At a glance it shone emerald, glistened so crisp.
But the longer I sat, the more I could sift
through the fibres, the more I could dig,
unearth grime so fake and thick it
rooted wounds in the skin of my fingertips yet

I still went back.
I still went back.
I shook hands with the shark
so I had to go back.


Oi. You. Where’s my money?

You little leech bag. Scum-sucking
toe rag. You lot are just the same –
slime balls. I’ve a mind to end you all.
But not before my jar is full.

Who do you think you are?

Reckon you’re a big man now, guy?
Tryna play us, kid?
No. Not you. Not at this.
This is not a game. We will shoot you in the face.

I said this is not a game. We will shoot you in the face.

When we lend you cash, we expect it back.
We’re running a flea circus, little one, and
you were the main act! But now,
you’re strapped and sacked.

Sigh. Just like every other blithering gambler in cut-offs and flip flops.

We don’t care if you love it up top, free rider,
or if you toss one off in the dizzy air
of merry-go-rounds and flying chairs,
because you’re puking debt all over our floor.

And we’ve mopped up enough bile ‘round here before.

It’s time to break your back, worthless ant.
You’re barely half a penny, we are
one hundred million grand.
Greasy mole, you’re gonna get whacked.

Feel dazzled yet, little man?


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