The South

"Nothing good has ever come out of the South." Anonymous

I dislike the South but I don't hate it. If I lived in prison I would use the word hate. The South is better than prison, but then so is Tottenham.

There are too many things that I don't like about the South. I'm not going to list them all in one posting. But what happened to me the other day is another reason why I need to get the fuck out of South Carolina.

It's Friday afternoon. I have a few hours to run some errands before I start work as a bartender - working with thick retards and serving red-necks who think they are cultured.

I hate my job.

I hate the fact that I can't do anything - for now - about changing my job. So I bite the bullet and get on with it.

It's 3 pm. I cycle to the bank and cash a check from work. It's also 100 degrees and the humidity levels are at 90% - a fucking record. The bank gives me $150 cash which I earned from my Chinese boss who has bad breath, wears the same clothes everyday and only cares about money. The man has the personality of a snake.

My bike is worth $650. It's a good bike. It saves me a lot of money. It's fast and has a great suspension.

I feel pleased with myself after collecting the cash. Next stop Groucho's Deli, which is a mile away on King Street. I buy two subs for takeaway and cycle to collect my trousers which have been altered at the tailors.

The weather is fucking hot and humid. Another reason why I hate the South. The summers here are shit because they're too fucking hot. However, cycling in this heat is better than walking as you can at least catch a breeze.

I pick up my trousers and head off home. I cycle past King Street and on to St. Phillips Street aiming for the crosstown. I'm content right now. My tasks are complete. All I have to do is get home, eat my subs, shower and cycle to work.

But then I got hit. I remember a truck speeding past me and someone shouting something at me in a shrieking male voice. At the same time a brick hit me on my back and unbalanced me causing me to fall off my bike and on to the road.

When I got up off the floor, both my hands were bleeding, so was my back, legs and elbow. My bike was damaged to the extent that I couldn't ride it. My trousers were torn and my food was sprawled across the road. In the distance, I witnessed a red pick up truck speed away with two cunts probably pleased with their days work.

They were rednecks.

I hate rednecks with a passion.

America has a lot of rednecks and not just in the South.

My hands were so fucked that I could barely open a wine bottle at work. Work that night was fucking painful. I thought that my wrists were broken. Luckily one of the Mexican boys in the kitchen is a boxer and told me how to treat my hands and wrists. He's my doctor in the "no medical insurance world."

"Nothing ever good comes out of the South." Anonymous