The Sin Bin by Tony Black Page B

it's a waste – a pure waste. I pride myself on keeping the electric down.'
    There were tins which held paint
stacked in the far corner. There were no colours on the outside, just a number
on the top of each lid which corresponded to a chart on the wall. 00176 was
magnolia. 00177 was pure white. 00181 was duck-egg blue. There was only one tin
of 00181.
    In his doocot the Old Giffer showed
Bobby how to stack the brushes. They were held in coffee jars half-filled with turpentine.
He took one out and rubbed it on the back of a newspaper. The bristles were
shining.
    'You see – clean,' said the Old Giffer,
'that's what this job is all about – cleanliness. Look after your equipment and
it'll look after you. I'll be minding you, boy, keeping an eye on you.' He
touched the side of his nose and squinted at Bobby, 'You keep this clean, and
do as you're told, and we'll get on fine in here, boy.'
    Bobby said nothing. The Old Giffer
handed him a broom and told him to go and sweep out the basement, top to
bottom. He was told to start in the far corner, so he did. It was dark and had
a dank smell and Bobby couldn't see what the end of the brush was doing, but he
persisted.
    The Old Giffer was sorting out nails
and nuts and bolts in his doocot. Bobby swept around the edges, in the alcoves
and dark hollows, round the boxes and planks and under the trestle until he had
worked into the middle of the floor, under the light bulb which gave off a dim
glow.
    A little mound of sweepings was
gathered in an ash-coloured molehill. Bobby smoothed its sides with his hands.
It looked like the earth rugby players moulded to kick from. Bobby wanted to
kick the sweepings high into the air. He looked for the Old Giffer, who was
still in his doocot, sorting out his bits and bobs. Bobby approached him.
    'I've done the sweeping.'
    'Oh, aye?'
    'Do you have a shovel?'
    The Old Giffer didn't look up, just
motioned to the back of the door with his hand. Bobby took the shovel from the
back of the door. It was weighty. He gripped the handle in his hands and raised
it above his head. The waxy shine of the Old Giffer's head was an inviting
target. One blow, just one swift blow , he thought, and I could be
free of him … free to go home and have a smoke in front of the telly.
    'When you're finished up with that you
can have your lunch break – an hour mind, only an hour!'
    Bobby slowly lowered the shovel and
went back to his little mound of sweepings. He hurriedly piled the dusty debris
onto the face of the shovel and dumped it in the big tin container with wheels
like a supermarket trolley. He undid the buttons on his mustard-coloured
dustcoat and flung it over the back of the chair. The Old Giffer didn't look up
as Bobby left the basement and quickly lurched up the stairs.
    Outside the building Bobby walked
briskly. He thought about glancing back but knew this would slow his pace. By
the time he reached the Old Brig he was beginning to tire and could feel a
sticky layer of sweat between his shirt and his skin, so he stopped.
    He looked out over the flowing waters
and felt calmed. His breathing settled and a craving in his chest called out
for nicotine. He took out the packet of ten Regal and pressed the filter tip
between his lips, then he reached for his lighter. Something jangled in his
pocket. It was the Old Giffer's keys. He counted them and smiled: there were
eleven.
    Bobby held up the keys and looked at
them for a while. They're just a bunch of keys , he thought, bits of
metal that open doors . He drew his fist around the bits of metal and pulled
his arm back with a force that hurt his shoulder, then he launched them into
the sky. Each little key sparkled in the sun as they whirled and whizzed
through the air, before skimming the surface of the water, and sinking, fast.
     

Take it
Outside
    I ain't saying I'd sooner be a bum,
but working at Delago's made me wonder. I knew as soon as I stepped off the
sidewalk and into the diner I was in for a ride. But I