Equipped with the relevant information, the correct address, and the dodgy A to Z, I made my way down south to Balham the following day.
The NI number application was a walk in the park compared to the job centre saga. But then again, after the battle of the previous day, my self-confidence rose from the default 100% to 120%. Also, rusty English words that had been decaying in my brain for decades started to peel off their corrosion. Of course, I used Nic’s address and had the proper paperwork from the job centre, so the application went through. They told me to look out for the card in the letterbox.
After exiting the building, I saw a couple of polyethylene bags dumped next to the recycling booth, and I couldn’t resist crossing the street and having a peek. The truth was, I instantly felt it would be a success when I spotted the bags. I had decades of experience in Austria, where we sought asylum for half a dozen years and resided most of the time in camps. Most of the kids and several parents went out to hunt for items on the streets. Everyone was exclusively looking for stuff and things—no food, only white goods, bicycles, clothing, and electronic goods.
Well, after ripping the bags open, my assumption was correct. I hit the jackpot, and it was the bullseye. One bag was full of brand new t-shirts, items that must have come from a start-up or an indie designer. They didn’t have labels but were unworn, with incredible colors and prints. I agree they didn’t fit me size-wise because they were XX and XXX-large, but I went to England to be a rock star, not a fashion model. Kurt Cobain’s grey rag popped into my mind from Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged session on November 18, 1993.
By then, he would have had a few dollars in the bank for a decent sweater, but he grabbed a piece of clothing he possibly got for his tenth birthday, with adequate size in mind so he wouldn’t grow out of it anytime soon. The other bag was full of shirts and trousers, pre-owned but washed and ironed, with brands like Ben Sherman, Next, and Marks and Spencer.
Upon arriving at Nic’s, I had a situation because his motorcycle was in front of the house. After applying common sense, I concluded that entering someone’s property with two bin bags would be unwise. This might signal to the owner that I intended to remain on their property for over three weeks.
Now what? I couldn’t walk up to the house because he would see me if he popped out to deliver his forever living products. It was mid-November, and rather chilly, rainy, and windy. There was no way I would have put those bags down somewhere without supervision. But there is always a move. Do you still remember the chess player?
I crossed the road, turned back, walked up to some flats, and pressed all the buttons on the intercom.