When he was 40

Suggested. Te big bash.

Simple single mother, strapped and struggling for cash. Stuart paid. 4 girls. Going back to the Uk (I love the uk). How old was I when I was last there. Running and rubbing the walls or bars. Elbows and knees raw as all hell. On the desk in the hall, hollow, hallowing plays. The moaning flop of it all. Jabbing nonsensically at my parts, heart beating until the cold infiltrated me. Separate. Spraying drool. My spite pooling at the back of my throat. Absent pickup. Rolling eyes.

The pick up was half past four. His voice was fading. Picking up dogs. Rain and snow and sickness. Raining down cum. Blinking eyes, crashing blows. My unfamiliar comrade; ships in the night in record number. Pulling out the cucumber. Spiritual gaze, glazing skin. The glisten of sweat. Rain. Work work work. My mind turned to cigarettes – an old fad. This young man, squirming inside me. Food for thought, perhaps we’ll do this again, hopefully soon my two minute noodle.

Funeral- for my bridesmaids. Busy days. Sport and afternoons to play majong. Cups and cups of this that and the other. I think that will work out. The queen vic?! Stopping for a chat, this and that. My old cat. 3 people, all of this injustice.

Hope. Demon. Love. Chance… I forget the 5th, Justice? ur-words. Original. Prism, light. Direction, colour fashion. Cohesive write up.

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