Ash by Max Dunbar
It was seven in the evening on the second weekend of July. For thousands in the city, their work was done. Daniel Ash’s was just beginning.
He had always hated this part of town. Oxford Road was home to both Manchester’s universities. Ash had left school at sixteen and had been working as a council administrator while the undergraduate scum had been sitting around taking drugs at the expense of the state. Now he felt gratified at the number of overeducated losers who were scraping a living as barmen or council temps. Writing their unpublishable novels and flogging their pathetic arts magazines and playing in their going-nowhere bands.
‘They should close the fucking universities down,’ Ash said. ‘Literally, the only thing you can do with a degree is to teach people how to get degrees.’
They were walking from their debrief in the Town Hall Extension and into the mouth of Oxford Road. Indicating the Cornerhouse, Ash said, ‘That’ll be the first pub we do.’ The Cornerhouse was full of intellectuals, and Ash had a hatred of intellectuals that would rival Stalin or Mao Zedong. Continue reading