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Geoff loved his ‘filth’, he’d spent his entire life trying to extract himself from the grime of East London and the poverty into which he’d been born, he knew what real ‘filth’ was, he felt proud of the escape provided by the photographic allure he purveyed in his shop. The hours spent alone in the store room or from the serious amounts of cash he was making from the contents of it were worth every bloody penny he paid to Mooney and his corrupt, greedy, evangelical colleagues. The ever-increasing amounts of dirty money shoved  into a brown paper envelope every week, was really little more than an annoyance, besides he was now also making a tidy little profit from his dealings with that fucking pill head musician who kept telling him he was going to be famous soon.

“Alright Geoff, how’s the man with the strongest right arm in London then eh?”

Martin swept into the shop, scything through the multi-coloured plastic strips that hung across the door to apparently hide the contents of the shelves inside from those people who wandered through Soho for reasons other than obtaining photographs of ‘Astrid from Copenhagen’ or other such erotic delights.

“How’s business? You had a visit from Mooney and his pals recently? You wanna be careful mate; I don’t think he’s a big fan of our ‘permissive society’ do you?”

“What do you want Martin? I’m too fucking busy to listen to your bollocks today son, you got my money?”

“Yep, every last penny, I’m your best bloody customer!  You wanna leave all that porno stuff well alone mate, you’ll give yourself a heart attack one day.”

“And you wanna watch your bloody mouth you cheeky bastard, you’ll be the one with the heart problems if you don’t slow down on those fucking pills soon, now how many do you want and don’t start fucking me about this time eh?”

Martin tap-danced his way around the shelves then skidded up to the counter before leaning over and planting a kiss on Geoff’s saggy, blotchy, unshaven left jowl.

“Oi!!! Fuck off with that will ya, what’s the fucking matter with ya? What do you think I am eh? Just ‘cos you and your mates all wanna look all pretty and mince about all fucking night long, it don’t mean the rest of us have turned into poofs as well.”

“How much for 1000 Geoffrey old chap? I want Blues if you got ‘em too”

“1000 eh? You planning on keeping half of London awake this weekend son? You’d better come into the back room while I sort that little lot out, careful you don’t trip over anything on your way through.”

“Or slip up on some stale spunk?”

“Oi! Less of that you disrespectful prick or you can fuck off now and look elsewhere for you filthy drugs. You’re gonna end up in a straight-jacket one day, if someone doesn’t fucking kill you first”

“Don’t worry about me mate, I’m destined for great things, me and the band are going places Geoff and when I’m rich and famous, I’ll be buying as many of these little beauties off you as you can get your hands on.”

Martin popped another purple heart into his mouth as he followed Geoff into the dimly-lit, musty-smelling, pornographic parlour, situated in the back room of the shop.

“And don’t bloody touch anything back here son, I’ve got everything sorted just how I want it”

“So have I Geoff, So have I.”



About simonmasonsays

"A jumped up country boy, who never knew his place."

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