The man on the hot Prague Roof by Nick Gerrard

Today what about you talk to your wife? You take a day off from the heat of the roof; take a day off and talk to your wife. Instead of shouting at her because you’re frustrated at how things turned out. 

You are fucked off with working on hot roves for rich fuckers whilst you sit in your box miles away from any historical part of the city. Far away from the barber shops and the taco bars. Far away from the street food place by the river, far away from the quiz nights in English and the bookshops with writer’s groups. What if you could be nearer. What if you could look out of a nice apartment and see guys sweating on roves. Guys with overalls rolled down to their middle tarmacking the road, re-laying the tram tracks. What if you lounged in a beer garden with a view. 

‘I’ll get to the fuckin bathroom when I have five minutes.,’ You say to her.

‘You said that last week and the week before.’

You look at her and wonder if she fucking even knows you.

‘Look! I’m fucking knackered after six days a week hard graft, and on my one day off you moan cuss I don’t re-tile the fucking bathroom!’ You look at her and screw up your face and open your hands and plead for some acknowledgment.

‘I work my fucking socks off for this family, don’t you know that?’ You shake your head.

She walks off with no answer.

You follow her. 

‘Well?’

‘Never mind, forget about it!’

You swear and shake your head and grab your jacket and head out the door, slamming it.

You walk around the estate. You watch the mothers gossiping as they hang the washing up on the hot roves of the block. You know they are moaning about their men, you just know it. You kick a ball back to the gang of happy kids, the young ones. You bow your head as you pass the bigger kids some on bikes others sitting on the wall of the little shop. Others are stood around smoking and shouting at their phones. You walk past and hear their swearing and anger. They sing along to some rap song on a phone. Every other word is you cunt…I’m gonna mess you up!...Fuck the police! You can’t hum along to their songs anymore, there’s no tunes coming from their teenage mouths. 

You go into the pub, the usual crowd is there. A pivo is plonked on the table In front of you before you even ask. You raise your glass and nod and wait for the complaining to start.

Nick writes Gritty realism or social realism or as he likes to say 'Working-class kitchen sink drama! ‘ His short stories, flash, poetry and essays have appeared in various magazines and books in print and online. Nick has five books published available on Amazon and elsewhere. His short novel out last year, Punk Novelette is all about a group of friends growing up with punk in the 70s in the UK and the effect the movement had on their lives. His latest short story collection is Called Struggle and Strife; fifteen short stories covering the political and personal struggles of today, yesterday, and the future. Stories of casual workers, holocaust survivors, refugees, slum dwellers, and trade unionists. Tales of protests and fight-backs against oppression, and the daily battles of ordinary people. https://nickgerrardauthor.wixsite.com/books