The Docks

By Simon Brown

“Must you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Spit! You spit every fifteen fucking seconds and it’s driving me crazy! What are you? An animal?”

“More of a beast than an animal.”

“Yeah, yeah, always the comedian. Help me with this will ya?”

“Jesus it’s heavy … what’s in it?”

“How the hell should I know? It ain’t my job to ask questions.”

“Just the muscle then? ‘Cause you sure ain’t the brains.”

“Ba dum tsh! Two in a row kid! Now shut up and lift.”

“Ooooof! I’m either gonna have a hernia or give birth to my lower intestine.”

“Don’t make me laugh … not now.”

“Don’t spit, don’t make jokes, you a priest or a gangster?”

“I’m the man who’s gonna slap you in a minute or two … almost there – rest – rest it on the railing, there, just like that.”

“And there it goes.”

“Did it go all the way to the bottom?”

“I dunno, it was heavy enough to sink though.”

“Good enough for me.”

“Strangest thing, could’ve sworn that I heard some noise from inside while we were carryin’ it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Aaah bullshit, just a bit of hard work that doesn’t agree with you, a bit of blood rushing to your head instead of between your legs for once, that’s your problem.”

“That ain’t even the beginning of my problems.”


Simon is a student living in Paris where he studies English and American literature. He writes short/flash fiction and poetry as a way of honing his craft and finding his voice as a writer. He is currently working on a novel in his (spare?) time, but that is a completely different beast.

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One Response to The Docks

  1. Kerry White says:

    Good one.

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