Charmless Man
Words are printed on the underside of concrete steps in Afflecks Palace.
Take a step in the right direction.
No racism.
No homophobia.
No sexism.
No transphobia.
No disablism.
No alteraphobia.
No violence.
Love.
Peace.
It’s a good message, printed on black paint in white, army-like font. Words are covered by feet going down, and by by ours as we ascend to the first floor, in search of something new. This red brick building a haven for anybody who doesn’t fit into a mainstream lifestyle. Goths, wiccans, hipsters, rockabillies, moshers and punks come here on the daily. I think I’ve seen the odd closeted chav now and then too.
You can find the latest overpriced goodie or a bargain. On the first floor there is a wide selection of items. The lifestyles merge one into the other. It’s like a four-floor indoor market, catering to the odd, the strange and the daring.
August heads into a shop selling second-hand vintage clothing. A prissy looking girl sits behind the cashier desk, her hair in a loose messy bun. I head in to help pick out some plaid shirts that August is looking at. He holds some up to himself, I choose the right. He holds one up to me. I laugh and shake my head,
“Nice try,” I place it back on the rack, “I know I’m going for a carefree look, but not that loose.”
He smiles and picks up a few more, walking to the desk, “I thought they would suit you.”
The girl smiles sweetly and packs the items. August pays. I take the bag from him, not minding being his mule for the afternoon. We walk through a narrow path between two clothing and jewellery stalls, past two smiling goths in full black leather with silver studs.
We head to the right, down two steps to another part of the maze-like building. Another concrete staircase to our right, decorated with posters on the walls and a statue of a bee on the lower landing. To our left is a poster stall selling band merch and pop culture badges. We walk round it and come to another stall with a door. The floors are original wood. Wooden tables are placed round, holding little boxes and bowls full of loose beads and charms. August saunters round, choosing a couple of rainbow beads, Swarovski crystals and random charms. It’s like Aladdin’s cave.
“What are you making?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he says, filling up a small basket with his findings, “Just whatever comes to me.”
I’m jealous of his creativity. I was never like him. Even when I was younger and enjoyed walking round Afflecks on my own, I’d just grab whatever was in at the time… whatever everyone else was wearing.
I pass a twenty to the cashier, paying for August’s items, dropping the plastic bags into the bag I’m already holding. We saunter out and down the stairs to the front, out onto the bright but busy street.
