Brixton: Adult Christmas Tale

Until last night all I knew about Brixton (south of the river Thames, a.k.a. the wrong side of the tracks) was based on the following tale: A man once lived in Brixton. A young man he was, full of love for his fellow men and women, a creative, open minded, a nice young fellow. Also, he was (is) English and polite and a tatsy worried about his reputation as we will learn in a moment. This young man, not so long ago, lets say during the festive season a few years back, disembarked from the London underground, climbed up the long escalator and was swiftly on his way home. Upon seeing this handsome clean man emerge from the station, the dirty and dark elements of Brixton came out of the woodwork. Not being able to feed them all (crack) but because it was the festive season and because he is good and loving he gave a lonely, sad looking homeless woman a pound (that is TWO dollars just for the record).

That was a mistake he was going to regret, a mistake that would change his life forever.

Upon receiving this gift, this woman, undoubtedly aware of the fact that there is no free lunch, jumped to her ragged feet and ran after him. How would she be able to repay his niceness? She had very little for herself, and even less to give. But then she used her cracked out head and she knew just what to do: "That was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me" she cried out. "I owe you a blow job". Our young man, irritated by a distasteful gift as such, after all it was the festive season, ran off and away. He ran until he could run no more. That night when he reached his house, he went to bed early and slept well. It was the last good sleep he was to have in this very house in Brixton.

The next morning, on his way to the tube, at the exact moment of reaching the long escalator into the inner workings of the underground system of London, shoved and pushed by the masses of commuters, he hears a scream: "you" he hears someone saying, "you", a woman says again, pointing at him as the crowd parts, "I owe you a blow job, come here, I owe you a blow job". "No" says our hero "you do not owe me a blow job", with conviction he turns to his fellow commuters "this lady, she does not owe me a blow job", but it was his word against hers and her word was louder, "Yes, I do, I owe you a blow job" she insists. What can one do?

He moved north, he sold his house and he never came back. This tale is based on a true story, which carries the moral of "a pound is two dollars and don't be throwing around with two dollars" or else "there are two dollar blow jobs to be had in Brixton" or finally, to remind us all that "sometimes it is better to give than to receive".

Last night we went to the scene of this incident our very selves, and while it did not happen to me, I was reassured that yes, it is true, they do offer them for two dollars and besides that, or maybe after that, there is fabulous sushi for the exorbitant price of 10x a BJ and cock tails for half that. Why go for the tail when you can have, well, the whole thing taken care of? Someone has got to get the unions involved.