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*Gutter Ponce*
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She rolled away from me, indicating that this was to be one of our back-to-back nights.
"That jumper's looking tatty." She said over her shoulder.
"Interesting," I said. "I hadn't really noticed but now you mention it it really does looks a mess doesn't it. You know I never pay any attention to my clothes unless I'm wearing something really expensive."
"Gutter Ponce. That's what you are."
I snickered drily. Knowing that she had said something so much deeper and more interesting than she realised. I sat up in bed and reached the notepad off the side table, flicking the bedside lamp on with my thumb.
"That's really very good," I said scribbling down the sketch outline of a laconic slacker novella, "Gutter Ponce. In a sense that is what we all aim to be. It is the antithesis of urban chic or street cool. We associate ourselves with degradation and low culture, loving the feeling that we are somehow superior to it."
I felt a short film unfurl itself within me. I could see it all. A scene in a greasy cafe, two beautiful young women, one in combats, the other in ripped jeans discussing Wittgenstein in terms of the Die Hard Trilogy over bacon and eggs.
"Less of the we shit, darling." She said, turning her head only as far as she needed to in order to be sure that I could hear her, "and there's no 'g' in utter."
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