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.

“Vaffanculo! We’ll find you, you motherfucker!” the Itanian bakers shouted after him.


The boy tried to shove past Gaz but he stuck his leg out and brushed against the lad, knocking the offender off his feet and sending him straight to the ground. Before the young hooligan could recover from his fall the Itanians had already snatched him up, more than eager to give him a good beating. Gaz took a grim delight as he walked by and the Itanians gave him a nod of gratitude as they passed him in his casual walk to the job-centre. There were quite a lot of people on the high street and the road itself was full of cars as they constantly whizzed by. Nobody paid the chavvy lad any mind as he made his trek into town on his journey to the job-centre. Reaching the cathedral, he took a left down the footpath that ran alongside the church’s cemetery followed by a right when he reached the adjacent street.
Gaz took to the narrow street a short ways before finally reaching his destination. The job-centre stared upon him from across the street; it was a three-floor office building and there was a small car park in the front of the building, similar to the supermarkets that dotted the town. Crossing the road and making his way towards the building, Gaz ignored the dodgy cunts hanging around the entrance as they called out to him whilst they bummed around smoking fags to pass the time. He entered the job-centre and took his place in the queue to sign in with the security officer at the small podium that served as a front desk. Stating his name and business, Gaz was told to take a seat as he waited for his name to be called by his career advisor. He walked into the waiting room and sat himself down between a black man and a young couple, keeping to himself and minding his own business.

“Gary Austin.” looking up, he got up from his seat and followed the woman who summoned him through a door into a hallway that led up the stairs. The woman was nicely dressed in business casual wear, though he couldn’t help but stare at her ass as she led the lad along, taking him to his career advisor and leaving him without saying a word upon delivering him to his interviewer.


“Good to see you Gaz; how’ve you been mate?” his balding advisor hopped out of his seat to greet the chavvy lad and shook his hand, inviting him to take a seat.


Struggling for a moment to pull the battered and crinkled booklet that served as his job diary out of his pocket, Gaz handed it over to the career advisor before taking his seat. It was no more than a small booklet in which he was meant to record his job seeking efforts in order to receive his unemployment benefits. A new one was handed out each week and the old one was collected and reviewed by the careers advisor. One was expected to apply to at least twenty jobs a week, though the job-centre almost never looked into it and so the majority of those on benefits didn’t actually seek out work; instead just going through the motions to appear like they cared about finding a job. For Gaz, the Job Seekers Allowance (JSA) was a good secondary income after his hustling on the streets, though he still relied on it in part. As it was, his career advisor was attempting to find him an apprenticeship somewhere that he could work his way up from an unpaid intern position.

Offering the chav a handful of options, Gaz was given the choice between a bartender apprenticeship, labour, warehouse and dock work, along with the address of a temp agency that he was meant to apply to by the time of their next meeting in a fortnight’s time. With their meeting concluded, Gaz was dismissed and so he got up from his seat and returned to the streets. Checking his mobile as he left the building, he saw that he had three text notifications; one from his mate Liam, and two from his customers asking for some gear. He replied to Liam’s text first, asking if he’d want to meet up at the pub in an hour’s time. With his plans underway, Gaz replied to the weed fiends, telling them to meet him in the park in half an hour as he made his way there. In his pocket he carried a sandwich bag filled with several smaller bags, each containing a single gram of cannabis. The first buyer only wanted a gram and his second wanted two; altogether he had half an ounce in his pocket and it was more than enough for the day.


“Oi, what’s good bruv?” a chav similarly dressed as Gaz approached him at the bench he was seated upon in the park.

“You alright?” he replied, reaching into his pocket.

“Yeah fam, got the money here innit.” his buyer took a seat beside him and they discreetly made the hand-off.


Both getting up to leave together, Gaz started walking in the direction of his second customer even as the lad who was also kitted in a grey tracksuit approached. It was common amongst the chavs to represent their gangs through the colours of their tracksuits; in Dover there were three main gangs of chavs; the greys, the blues, and the black and white suits. There were also Eastern Aerbonean gangs vying for control of the small town, though they had their own dress code. When it came to immigrants however, the Brebon people always put aside their differences when it came to the foreign invaders. The chavs fought for territorial control of the streets where they hustled and sold drugs mostly, fighting predominately for pride, whereas the Eastern Aerbonean thugs fought for control over the drug, prostitution, and crime rackets. As it was, Gaz belonged to the grey crew, their main rivals being the black and white chavvies of the industrial estates.
Gaz and his boys were the main supplier of weed in town whilst the industrial estates were known more for the harder drugs. The immigrants were bringing in speed, hash, and heroin, though the legal high market was starting to drive hard drug suppliers out of business. With his business in the park concluded, Gaz made his way towards Margate Road, stopping midway on his journey to make a detour towards his mate Craig’s gaff* when the lad sent him a text asking for two twenties. He made the drop off and continued on his way towards the Hog’s Head pub where Liam would be expecting him. Navigating the busy street, Gaz found himself making his way to the bar where he ordered himself a pint from the publican as he took a seat beside his mate.



*A Brebon slang term for a place of residence.

“What’s good bruv?” Liam spoke up as Gaz seated himself.


“Job Centre’s got me in a bind fam; signed on this morning and they’re telling me I’ve been on it too long now like, innit. You?” Gaz replied between sips on his pint.


“Fucking hell; you should sign on the disability allowance bruv. You just sign on with the doctor once a month like, haha.” Liam chuckled to himself over his pint of cider.


“Nah bruv, fuck that wasteman shit; man’s making moves, innit. I’m not tryna spend life on the dole fam.” Gaz said, taking another sip of his pint.


The time passed them by as they continued to chat, playing a couple of games of billiards and darts whilst they hung around in the back of the pub. After a couple hours had passed they took leave of each other’s company and parted ways. Gaz had a couple more meetings to attend to and Liam had his own business in the streets; upon leaving, Gaz quickly made his rounds and sold off the rest of his half before heading back home for the day. Stopping in a local newsagent, he bought himself a packet of crisps and munched on them in an effort to clear his head some after the day’s heavy drinking session. The police were more active in the streets as it was later in the day when people had less business being out and about. Casting him dirty looks filled with suspicion, the police didn’t say anything to the chav, but rather glared at him in silence as they crossed paths.

“You alright?” one particularly aggressive cop asked in response to Gaz staring silently ahead as he passed by.

“What’s it to you, copper?” he replied in a rather even tone.

“Don’t get cheeky with me lad; keep on walking mate.” the cop said, taking offence to the chav’s attitude.

“I thought this was a free country officer?” Gaz answered, taking up a stance as the policeman stopped dead in his tracks in the face of the blatant challenge to his authority.

“Yeah, well you reek of alcohol and you’re probably carrying gear so I’d suggest you jog on home lad.” The officer snapped back.

“Yeah, I’ve been drinking mate; I didn’t realise it was a crime to be minding me own fucking business bruv.” Gaz replied, spreading his arms and standing up to the man of the law.
“Look here lad; you’re causing public distress and harassment and you’re in violation of Section 13.” the officer said in a rather stand-offish manner.

“Yeah, and who am I causing distress to? Am I harassing you mate?” Gaz replied warily.

“No, but you can’t be going round approaching people in the streets as you are.” the officer replied, equally cautious in his choice of words.

“Oh yeah bruv; and who’ve I approached? You came at me innit, and now you’re tryna call sections on me too. So what are you reporting mate?” Gaz answered.

“I didn’t declare any sections over you and I haven’t accused you of anything lad, so you ought to be careful in what you say.” the officer said, backing down.

“Yeah, so then if you haven’t got anything to accuse me of then what are you stopping me to say?” Gaz responded accusingly.

“I haven’t stopped you; I’ve got nothing to say to you.” the officer replied.

“Yeah, well if you’ve got nothing to say then fuck off mate.” Gaz answered, dismissing the policeman.

“Yeah, alright.” the officer said, waiting for Gaz to turn and walk away first, though the chav wasn’t having any of it.

“So go on and piss off then innit.” Gaz brushed the officer off and watched the man irritably turn and walk away first.


As the policeman made his way along back on his path down the high street, Gaz turned round and continued on his journey home. He made the rest of his journey without any further incidents and avoided making contact with anyone else on his walk, stopping in the local fish and chip shop to pick up some chips and curry on the walk home. He finished the meal even as he reached his flat, situated down Ramsgate Road on the outskirts of town. Making his way inside the main hall, he chucked the styrofoam box that once contained curry and chips in the communal bin at the foot of the stairs that led upwards. Once he was back in the comfort of his flat Gaz spent the rest of that evening in his sitting room. He spent the remainder of the evening smoking zoots and listening to grime as he awaited the next week when the unemployment benefits would go into his bank account. So it was that the chav ended his day sprawled out on the sofa in his tiny sitting room as he smoked himself into a stupor, falling asleep where he lay.