Excerpt
This Is Bree
DOVER, BREE 13 April, 4E93 “Fuck’s sake.” Gaz grumbled as he reached out to hit the snooze button on his alarm. It was 10 in the morning on as normal a Tuesday as any. Upon dragging himself out of bed, he kitted himself out in a grey tracksuit before going about rolling up a spliff to wake and bake. Remembering that he had an appointment with his career advisor at the job-centre later that day around noon, he let loose a disapproving groan and swore. He quickly checked the time, just to find that he had less that two hours to prepare for his appointment. Gary “Gaz” Austin was what you’d call a chav; he was well-respected amongst his mates, though in the Kingdom of Bree chavs were at the bottom of Brebon society. They were lumped in with the immigrants, junkies, and homeless pisshead bums that polluted the streets of all the major cities. Chavs generally lived off the government, their name being an acronym for Council-Housed And Violent. They caused trouble wherever they went and lived off the tax-payers money; claiming unemployment and housing benefits, taking and dealing drugs, as well as committing robberies and violent crimes just to get by. Gaz was your stereotypical chav in that regard, being one of the main dealers in town with a temper to boot. Taking the last couple of drags off his zoot, Gaz put it out in the ashtray on his bedside table and got up from where he sat on the edge of the bed even as his mobile started to ring. “Yeh, alright; who’s this then?” he said, answering the phone. “Oi, this Gaz, yeah? Shannon gave us yer number mate, I’m tryna score a ten’s bit on tick fam.” some dodgy cunt on the other end answered. “Yeah? Well you can lose this number then bruv; my shit’s twenty a gram and I don’t do no tick.” with that he ended the call and made his way into the tiny kitchen/sitting room situated in the front of his flat. Fucking Shannon, Gaz though to himself, I told that slagging cow not to be giving my number out. He didn’t have the time to dwell on it long however, as he still had to get ready to make the hour-long walk into town for his appointment. Putting a kettle on before jumping in the shower, Gaz heard the switch click on the electric kettle even as he finished drying himself off. Once he was dressed and sorted he poured himself a cup of tea with the freshly boiled water, poured in a bit of sugar from the bag, and rummaged through his fridge for some milk. Taking an initial sip of the steaming cup he’d just poured before setting it down, Gaz returned to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror to sort himself out properly before leaving the flat. He was an average-looking twenty-three year old Brebon chav; shaved blonde hair and a stony face. His skin was taut and his face was rather gaunt, as were most of those living off unemployment in that country, and his cold grey eyes had the heartless calculating gaze shared by the majority of his people. Turning on the cold tap to wash his face, Gaz ran his fingers through his hair and prepared himself for the day. With his final preparations for the job-centre concluded, Gaz brought himself back into the kitchen to enjoy his tea with a hand-rolled cigarette since it was finally cool enough to drink. He smoked the fag until it was almost down to the roach before extinguishing it in the ashtray, where he left it smouldering as he gulped down the last couple sips of his tea. Putting the cup in his sink with the rest of the washing up he would have to do later, Gaz grabbed his boots and laced up for the walk into town. As he walked out the door, he exchanged looks with one of his neighbours in the house; nodding as the Eastern Aerbonean man passed him by in the hallway. The building was actually two houses merged into one, consistent of three floors in addition to a basement, and it housed sixteen flats altogether; Gaz was situated on the ground floor and his neighbour lived on the second across the hall from him. “You alright bruv?” Gaz started as the man continued to give him a dirty look passing by. The foreigner didn’t even bother to respond and Gaz made his way out of the building, spitting on the ground as soon as he was outside. Fucking immigrant cunts; it’s bad enough the place stinks of fucking curry, he thought to himself as he made his way down the road into town. The weather outside was a bit chilly and the sky was overcast, though it wasn’t uncommon that early in the Brebon springtime on the coast. Gaz didn’t even feel it however, as he was fully kitted in his chavvy gear; the young thug made his way down the street with all the swagger of a hooligan vandal, walking as menacingly as he could. On both sides of the road mixed crowds of people walked to and fro, immigrants intermingled with the chavvy youth, along with young families and the elderly. The majority of passer-bys made room for the passing women pushing prams as well as the elderly, though the Eastern Aerbonean immigrants formed walls, travelling in gangs of anywhere between four to eight strong. They forced oncoming Brebon pedestrians off the footpath and into the road itself to pass them by. So it was that confrontations and passive-aggressive displays of dominance often broke out between the chavs and the Eastern Aerbonean thugs as they fought for control over those streets. Gaz had other things on his mind beyond simple matters of pride in the meantime however, and so he did his best to avoid any altercations with the immigrants and kept his head down as he made for his appointment. A couple of kids tried to stop him outside a newsagent, pleading for him to score them some cheap cider. Gaz coldly told them to fuck off and left them stringing curses after him in his wake as they continued to stand their ground outside the local shop. The scenery passed him by as he tried to enjoy his leisurely stroll. This would be the greatest country in the world, if it weren’t for the people living in it, Gaz thought to himself with a bitter grin as he walked along. “Oi bruv, ‘ave you got a second? Please mate, I was on my way to see my daughter at the hospital, I just need-” a haggard-looking homeless man rushed out to clutch at empty air as Gaz brushed him off before interjecting him mid-speech. “Piss off, you dirty scaghead cunt.” “Yeah, fuck you too mate!” the hobo called out after him as he walked away, “You wanna ‘ave a fucking go then?” Ignoring the junkie’s existence entirely, Gaz continued on his way and passed through the council estates with minimal social interaction. Cars drove by occasionally and there were small groups of people on the footpaths, though these increased in density as he drew near to the roundabout that led into town. Crossing the roundabout from Ramsgate Road onto the High Street, Gaz followed the long curved street into the heart of town. Charity shops, newsagents, electronics repair shops, and various sorts of local shops lined both sides of the street, occasionally accompanied by signs offering daily or weekly special deals scrawled in chalk. As he passed by a small Itanian bakery Gaz watched a young Alvarian-looking lad as the youth outright kicked the sign over, shattering the slate-board and breaking the wood frame as it smashed against the stone cold pavement. Within seconds the shop’s staff were out front shouting as the lad tried to run, but not before spitting on the display window and giving them the middle finger.
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