TEN GIGS - CHAPTER TWO

Hoddeston, 1988.

CONTENT WARNING. This piece includes discussion of sexual assault.

I’d come to the end of my college years, with little to show for it. I’d gathered some trivia about people like Jean Piaget, a modest handful of rejections from girls, and qualifications in things that wouldn’t be of any use for the rest of my life. Unemployment was high, real life was looming, and I didn’t have anything close to a plan. Dreams, sure. A plan, no.

I signed on to unemployment benefit. The dole. It wasn’t much money, but for a boy still living with his parents, it gave me a tiny amount of autonomy. Every other Thursday, I’d walk the couple of miles to the dole office, for the cursory interview that would decide if they’d slide me another cheque. I’d make the long walk there, a market stall knock-off Walkman in my jean jacket pocket, Public Enemy tinny in my ears, but filling my mind with defiant confidence.

They’d ask me if I’d been looking for work. I’d lie and say that I had. I hadn’t. I’d been doing somet…