Letter to Francisca:
albatross_part - 4th book of a letter to Francisca.
In the air is the wind. On the wind is an albatross.
One doesn't find meaning, one makes it.
albatross_part_05

Ha! I had full intention not to write one word in this book tonight. But as usual, I can’t sleep. Today I woke at 3:00 PM. 15:00. I couldn’t believe it except for looking at the clock 6 times. I felt so blob-like; I was determined to avoid going to Karate. But at five to five, I had change of heart. This is not to be a diary so I shan’t bore you with details of the uneventful day. To sum it, I left the house for Karate and that was it. No other human contact except for the beady eyes of the nosy landlady, gawking in at me while I made my first meal of the day. She’s not as bad in reality as she is in my imagination. I was spinning something in my head while I tried to think. I was thinking how excellent my woman is and today I was thinking of the friends I used to have. None of them drop in to see me these last few months. I suppose that big lake discourages them. I’m getting very upset with Uriah Heep. He’s such a loathsome creature. If I don’t soon catch a rave, I may go back for one more chapter. It’s lucky for me Wiebke studies English literature or I’d have nothing to read now that Toby is gone. He supplied me with Science Fiction and Fantasy. I’m well suited to be old, which is a good thing, since I’m not far off. I prefer a book to a beer, I prefer writing to having my skin pealed off. I quite enjoy painting. And I could play the guitar if I had nothing else of interest. Hell, I might just all well be old now. One month till Christmas, well less a day at this time. Rant time. Sometimes it just takes a word to get going. I’m sure this rant will be a little more tedious and more lame than some of the previous, ‘Lord, help us.’ Fuckin’ Christmas. I love it. Ha! And that’s it. Well except for everything about it. But, except for the Christ part, it’s a blood good celebration. Should have something similar 3 or 4 times a year. With presents being optional on the other ones of course. That’s a pain in the ass, finding something. I hate all the things. Just buy more shit.

-Christmas is more fun when your grandparents are alive and you are a kid and the family goes to the east coast to see everybody. Or even if I was in London and visiting people and have people over. That’s what’s good. If I ever said I was a misanthrope, I was a bald face liar. As a matter of fact, I’d quite like to visit Marg and John. That’s Christmasy. Usually I feel quite lonely at Christmas, lately, not as a kid. But this Christmas I’ll be with my wife. And why the fuck is Christmas special if you are a non-believer? Fuck, it must be the hype. Everyone trying to be a little happier. Maybe the very poor people get left out. This was not what I intended to write. Now that I think of it. I intended not to write.

-Hello. It’s tomorrow, or at least much later. 13:30. I’m concerned for one of the plants. I think I killed it. The other day it was droopy so I gave it a little water. Well now that it’s droopier I lifted the thing out of it’s outer shell to see it is drowning in an inch of water. So I dumped out the water. I have no hair dryer or I’d blow dry the soil. Wiebke almost killed her miniature rose bush that way but it has come back very well.

Before I get side tracked with things that need not be mentioned, I’m going to start scribbling down my dream. It’s a dream designed to be the start of a movie or a book. First of all there is a young man in a large high school. He appears to be me and I leave by way of the teacher’s lounge which is a good portion of the school. I encounter a couple people but I just act as if I’m supposed to be leaving the building that way and no one bothers me. When I step out of the enormous entrance way, I see many students out in the yard and up on the first floor balcony. There is a band playing. I am quite lost. I recognise nothing and stop to think which direction I should take. Calculating I was at the back of the building, if I walked away from the back I would be heading south. That was the direction I choose. There was a man at the pathway between the houses. He had a guitar but because everyone was listening to the band, he had no one to play to. He had a hat on the ground with a very little change in it. I came off to the street and had to wait for three autos to decide which way they were turning. One changed it’s mind and nearly knocked me over. I walked across the street and slipped on a poster that was lying on the sidewalk. I had boots on like police, army and young people wear. I only half fell, dragging the outside of my foot on the sidewalk and scraping the black of my boot just a little. I noticed the sign was of the company that I was walking beside. The van that had nearly run me over was also from the company. It was an old building. Everything I passed in the next while was old, dilapidated and somewhat abandoned. It occurred to me that the land was vacant of landlords and law. When I turned down an alley way, a boy was with me. At the next opened door with a light on, he said, ‘We’ll flip for it.’ I said, ‘No, you take it, I’m looking for someone. I think I shall go on.’ He thanked me and went into the little room. I hadn’t realised till then that I was looking for someone. I was looking for my woman and had no idea where she was. In fact, I had know idea if she was still my woman. The thought occurred to me she could be in any of the rooms about me. And with anyone. She could also be at the other end of town. I had heard somehow, which was odd since no one except the boy had talked to me, that she had been seen farther on. Possibly where the big building was, were there were people who went out in the streets. That would have to be my destination.

Meanwhile in this building on one of the higher floors, there is a business dinner being had. The food is extravagant and very expensive. Most of the building is empty for everyone has gone for the day. When the meal and the business is over, one fellow directs his friend to close the blinds or the window. Someone asked the waiter what was the best method to pay for the evening, if it should have to be so. The waiter, very humbly explained that if they were to complain about the food and service they wouldn’t need to pay but because his boss was a hard man and everyone knew the food was excellent and the service the best there was, it would be a difficult process; so for all involved, it would be much better to pay. He was a little more elaborate than this. At the end of his soliloquy, he realised something was wrong. One of the men asked if it was possible to pay with plastic. That waiter had some how ended up on his knees, very nervous. One man took the hat off his friend and put it on the waiter. It was one of those things Jewish men wear. It has a meaning that eludes me at the moment but it’s significant to a Jewish person and the man who had been wearing it was a bit put off.

The waiter was aware that not being paid for the meal may not be his biggest problem. A couple of people came to the open door from the hall and told the waiter they were going now it everything was okay. They hesitated a little when they saw the waiter being handled by the men. But when the waiter, with a gun in his back, answered them everything was fine, they left. One more man came and looked in before he left. He was more curious to see if there was a problem, but he said nothing and only looked back a couple times as he walked, or should I say, waddled to the elevator. He was an enormously fat man. His job, other than some kind of technical thing, maybe even camera work, was obviously to drink very much beer. He wore a beer belt. All around his gargantuan waist were bottles of beer clasps to his belt. When he was gone, one of the business men came off the elevator with a weapon that looked like a rocket launcher. It was quite apparent that they had business to continue on the building.

As this was going on, two young ladies are searching along the outside of the building for a secret entrance. They have only short dresses on and are a little cold and one of them is very anxious. She is aware of the danger of being a woman on the streets at night. They may have been at the club which has an entrance at the front of the building but does not connect with the building. There is also a hotel on the first few floors and a banquet is being held on the second or third floor. The two young women finally find a way in. They push a spot that makes the continuous glass cladding open up to reveal two doors. They enter and race around until they find a change room when they both go into a stall to have a hot shower to warm their skinny bodies. They don’t even take their dresses off. The blond girl, not anyone I know by the way, is still showering and frightened. She asked for a towel a few times from her friend. Her friend finally hands her one. But as the blond girl starts to dry herself, she turns the shower on again for warmth. She is so confused and scared. Her friend takes the whole thing light heatedly but it doesn’t help the other.

This is where I forget if anything else happens but I’m awake soon after so the story must finish its self. I leave it to your imagination because I’m bloody hungry and need some breakfast. I’m quite sure the story would involve a little action with all these different thing on in the same building. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was somewhat like the Bruce Willas movie where everything blows up and many people scream and people get shot. But it would take a different course.

_bunniestop_

Francisca. I must confess I long for your love. Not as a lover, as a dear friend. It may be my intention, with this letter, to make you fond of me. So if by chance I did print this letter and send it to you, do find it in your heart to have a good thought for me and return a post card. I hope Greg Stage is well. I was also thinking of him. I have no idea where he is or what he is doing. One month from boxing day. The sun has been out 10 minutes in the last 2 weeks. I had the last of the stew today.

_bunniestop_

-Monday. The last one in November of 94. 94! How the hell did it get to be so late? Where did my youth go? I can’t get a grip on being this old. How do you deal with it, Franny? Ignore if and hope it goes away. Would you like to write an introduction for the book titled ‘Notes to Francisca’? Did you know Wiebke is a little jealous of this nonsense? I can see her point but there is no danger. In fact, the whole world is a very safe place.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before so I pass if quickly. Though the Pope and his accomplices may disagree violently with this proposal, I firmly believe the Church should pay taxes. Okay just kidding. And cops and politicians should not take bribes; and judges. Sorry, just kidding. And cars should have a warning label on them. ‘Driving this car increases you chances of dying, killing others, wasting finite resources and destroying the environment. And why is it easier to get crack and coke than marijuana these days? I don’t think people should get away with murder just because they have money and power. Just kidding. Go ahead. I know it’s necessary. But I’m nobody important, don’t kill me. Nor are any of my friends.

And today I received 2 letters. One from Wiebke, what an excellent woman. I’ll keep her. And one from a dear relative. I won’t say which one on account I’m going to do a bit of razzing. In the letter was written about two separate train crashes, no one dead but quite a few injuries on one of them. More things are happening these days, you better get yourself right with Jesus. The anti-Christ is on his way and he will likely be a homosexual Jew. Or part Jew. My God, I say in jest. When will people stop believing all the shit they are given. There’s a bloody new anti-Christ every few years, it seems. Some one told me Regan was one. Someone told me the world would end in 1982. The planets were all aligned then. It would cause disaster. Most definitely, the apocalypse. Who’s lips? I wish I could spell a little better. I’ll fix it before I send it to you. I’m not sure if you remember 1982, but it seems to me that the planets didn’t rip each other apart with monstrous gravitational pull. It was pointed out to me by Bruce the penguin drawer, that the planets weren’t going to be perfectly aligned and likely wouldn’t matter if they were on account there is one hell of a space between each and every one. I was dam glad to hear it. I decided to stay in collage, remain an unbeliever and save myself a great deal of door to door canvassing to sell the end of the world. You can be dam sure in five years, to have a big end of the world. Well, excluding those who have a different calendar. Maybe half the world will blow up and Jesus Christ can come wreck havoc. F.Z. (not you) get out of my head. I can’t get that ‘I’ve been in you.’ song out. I keep hearing him say, ‘I’m going in you again.’ I’d much rather hear, 1,2,3,4. or ‘Broken hearts are for assholes.’ Speaking of asshole. Slap. Oh, sorry. No speaking of assholes. Where were we? The end of the world. I suppose if we keep predicting them, one day someone will be right. Too bad the fucker won’t be able to say: ‘See, I told ya.’ ‘I’m going in you again.’ Stop it Frank. Take it away Bob. What, you don’t want it anymore? Did I tell you I was going to Spain? I might send you a postcard. Don’t be surprised if I don’t. Do you still live where you did a year ago? Are you still with that, what is he, let’s call him a man if he’s old enough? Funny how I don’t quite feel like a man. I still feel like an experimenting child. I’m pretty good at drawing dragons. Except for the flying part, dragons aren’t impossible. If they had a digestive system that gave off a great amount of methane, they would have to vent it somehow. Big fire breathing lizards. And of course when they died, they’d burn up because they wouldn’t be able to regulate their system. Of course it’s hypothetical. But look deep in the ocean, if you happen to be by one. Take a great white shark. Not with out help though. Once you take him, take a good look at him or her. Now there is a monster of elegance. Beautiful beyond any doubt but a basic eating machine. And there are other things down there in the ocean that would be enough to make you wonder how the hell does something become like it is. Shit, look at us. Let’s use you for example. A work of art, as they might say. Especially Rodan. You must say RODAN very loud. I was in the town where he worked. Metz ain’t it. Take RODAN. Not out of the ground but out of history. Look what he did with his hands. How the hell did a creature come out of life that decided to shape a rock. Or take a pill. As the say. How did a pill happen to be? I think we’ve strayed from the point. It’s easy to do when there ain’t one that you’ve, meaning me, decided on. So if a kid asked you, are dragons real, you can say: ‘I don’t rightly know, what do you think?’ And the kid can say: ‘Is Santa Claus real?’ Well, there was a St. Nick and some weird goings on with wheat or something. Or bread. Or was that someone else. Is Jesus real? Oh, sure. But stories change. In fact, the story didn’t even start out the same as what was. See son, suppose you’re talking to a little boy now, Jesus wanted to be King of the Jews because he came form royal blood on his daddy’s side. He grew up, became a teacher, got married, had a few kids (this is all true, by the way, I don’t jest) and tried to get a following. Unfortunately for him, and maybe even the Jews of the time, he ran into some trouble. The Romans had possession of the land and had no interest in giving it to Jesus or any other King. So since Jesus was from an important family as was his wife, they had many connections and large financial support. They bribed the government to stage a crucifixion so Jesus could do that 3 day in the tomb thing like Lazarath, his brother-in-law did (sometimes called John). And then be reborn. It was the cult he was in. So they took him to a private hill, which the Romans never did, tied him up with two others, which was a little strange since it was usually many at a time. Didn’t brake his legs ‘cause’ he pretended to be dead so fast, which never happens, they usually last a week or so unless their legs are mercifully broken. So they stuffed him in the tomb, sent his family to France and who the hell knows where Christ went. So they wrote a book years later. Took most everything out so it would fit into a capitalist religion and now we are left guessing and thinking he was something to get excited about. Now I better give credit to ‘The Holy Blood and The Holy Grail’ for I think I may have taken this from that. Son. Sorry I asked. Can I have a candy? No! That is made from sugar and that means slavery and cash crop starvation schemes. By this time, whoever the kid was, is most likely run away to somewhere safe. Like the TV. It’s unusual to rave against religion. Usually you try to sell it to someone. Why the hell would anyone try to unsell it? Especially with the idea of just scrapping the whole ONE TWO THREE FOUR. ‘Broken hearts are for assholes.’ Can I mention why I was attracted to you? I’m gonna, anyhow. I noticed you were beautiful, yes okay but that wasn’t the whole thing. I was told by many how smart and clever you were. I could see also how, what’s the right word? I’ll make a list, you chose. Hostile, mean, tough, impenetrable, that’s sort of it. You seemed to not have time for most people. 1,2,3,4. ‘Broken - shut up. Quickly abandoning that subject, he races on to the weather. The weather is dark today. And on to you Jack. ‘If Jack helped you off the horse.’ Do you remember Ted. The big handsome guy, blond hair, often with full beard, I think. I wanted to send him a copy of my first book, see if he wants to make it into a screen play. It would be quite easy. It’s almost halfway there as it is. So where are we. We did religion enough. Politics as well, I’d guess. Cars we touched on. Drugs and assholes. What else is there? What do people talk about. Let’s try a mock up and see what happens.

Okay, Here we are on the back Patio of Squirrel’s on a warm spring day. Mark is working in the kitchen, which is lucky. We don’t want Leo there. No offence, just we want Mark. Sean is our waiter and Tim is on bar. Passed out. No, sorry, Tim. He’s being very conscientious about making the customers happy.

Now we need a cast. I’m going to indulge by including myself and people I like. At the table is, Amer and Trish and Randy and Jim, that’s most of the band. Tauqir has come by as well. We are having coffee, and since it’s Wednesday, we are possibly treating ourselves to the special. Not Randy though. We wants to smoke and have a beer as does Jim. And Tauqir had something at Helen’s Hash House.

S ‘How was the Roti?’

By the way, S is me. T is Tauqir. P is Trish. A is for Amer. J is for, you should have it by now.

T ‘Not as good as it used to be.’

S ‘You’re just boasting. When they remember to put the chicken in the chicken burrito, it’s quite a meal.’

R ‘Did you ever notice how a woman’s ass gets bigger after you cum?’

P ‘You’re a pig, Randy."

R ‘No, seriously.’

Shit, how about Sn for Sean.

Sn ‘More coffee?’

ATS ‘Yes. Yes please.’

Well is that it? That’s no attempt at a little play. We could start talking about Sandra and house rules but some of us are trying to block that out of our memories. And there’s no call to be mean.

J ‘Hey, Jebonie.’

FZ ‘I’m going in you again.’

‘1,2,3,4.’

Shit, we didn’t even give Sean a hard time. He didn’t deserve it. He was one of the most efficient, on the ball waiters. He asked me once if Wiebke and I ever argued. Apparently people though our love was out of a fantasy book. They saw us walking up the street always enamoured with each other. I assured him we argued well. And in case you’re interested, Sean, we still do when we get the chance to be in the same country, which isn’t often enough. We also are still mad about each other. 1,2,3,4. Shut up Frank.

S ‘Trish, you owe Amer and I a six pack still.’

P ‘Ya, I know.’

S ‘It’s only been four months.’

A ‘I would have done it for free.’

S ‘Ya, well don’t let me hold you back.’

A ‘I may get too excited.’

T ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

Now there’s a big problem. Tauqir should be doing much more talking, possibly exchanging jokes with Randy. Tauqir’s a stand up comic and Randy is more a sit down type.

Well fuck it. Wait, here comes a sword fucker. Shit, he forgot his sword.

T ‘Are you going to the Boom Boom tinight?’

S ‘I think I will. Drop in see Shelly first. Then go a little later.’

1,2,3,4. Stop.

Whatever happened to Shelly? I heard she got a tattoo after splitting up with my buddy Steve. Then went to work in a bar where she got excellent tips and a young boyfriend and I never saw her again. Hell. I ain’t seen most people now. At least Tauqir, Paula, Bryan and oh shit, I can’t spell her name, Lama, Yanish. I really am sorry. It’s quite late. Anyhow. They came to visit. My parents come in April. Ah. Jael or Yail or around there. No other news except that the citrus trees are healthy. As am I. And some oak trees are coming now. ‘I’m going -’ FRANK! Shut up! Sure the blue lady by Matisse is nice but I don’t think it’s such a big deal. Groping. So these two black, Jewish, homosexual, anti-Christs walk into a bar. Should have been watching where they were going. How would I know if my boyfriend was gay? Easy. Take him to the zoo. Oh. Sure, I’ll go with you. It’s a lovely day. So we all go to the zoo. He pays. That was the deal. At the end of the day he asks again. I didn’t notice anything weird at the zoo? I don’t know, some of these creatures are quite odd. I mean about my boyfriend. Oh. Why don’t you ask him? Ha. Anti-climax. Don’t you hate that? How do you get two penguins in a bathtub? Easy. Typewriter ribbon. Look, fuck head. This book was 3.95. That’s funny ‘cause at the other store they were 5.95. The point was going to be, don’t write so much shit and waist paper. But that’s my art, such as it is. A painter needs canvas. A mason needs a secret handshake. Why are secret societies so popular? People like to think they are special. I believe that was why Hitler hated Jews. But it’s the same with anyone. We’re all special. Luke? Shit, I had a thought. Other than Little Eva, who I love dearly. Couldn’t have been that important. 1,2,3,4! I’ve got to take that CD back to the library before it drives me mad. My life is very important. Especially to me. Ain’t that special. Brent! What are you doing? Ice cream? ‘Broken hearts -’

Hot dam. There’s only two pages left in this book on account other stuff is in it. I’m going to Karstatt tomorrow, see if I can’t buy another. One more and I’ll stop. Promise.

1,2,3,4.

I’d stop now and go to sleep but it ain’t day light yet. Do you think it’s wrong to have sex with aliens? Or fish? It is highly probable that this waiting to go see Wiebke is making it hard to sleep. I managed to eat well today after not eating at all yesterday.

Sn ‘More coffee?’

P ‘You’re the best Sean.’

Sn ‘I know.’

S ‘Compliments to the chef.’

M ‘Thanks. What are the compliments?’

A ‘You’re very pretty.’

M ‘You think so?’

S ‘Does a shit in the woods?’

R ‘No.’

F ‘I’m going in you again.’

1,2,3,4.

One nice thing about Saarbrucken is that you can always step in dog shit. You’re lucky. We dreamed of a card board box. Franny, quick, jump and spit. Shit. Piss. Fuck. That’s just for readers attention. Sex now. Okay imagine a big white snake.

Wait a minute. There’s a band called that. What exactly do they mean by white snake? Are my black bunnies still there Darrell? Well, you’ll be glad to know that the house is on fire and you won’t have to read this. ‘Cause you know, if someone spends a couple or 3 years writing something, you should have the decency to read it. It’s the last several hundred page latter you’ll ever get. Who should get the next one? I’ve decided that Brian and I should co-write a letter book. Notes to Brian and Steve from each other. I hope he hasn’t lost the first ones. Those were the most unwell. I have most every letter ever written me. I can see all three from here. Well Frank, where are you going? ‘In you again.’ Thanks Frank. As usual, I make the promise that it will soon get better. If it don’t it well soon be over. I may take a brake until I’m on the train. See if I can’t have something to say. Maybe I should get a TV. Or contact a disease. Or do some lopping. One last word for this book. Some people will tell you one thing and can prove it’s true. Other people will tell you the opposite and can prove it’s true. It’s the cat in the box with a vile of poison and a proton kind of life. Not only depending how you look at it, but when. I should end here. But I won’t. I’ll beat the piss out of it long after it has already decomposed. Love Steve. PS A tiny space here. Call the book: Uncensored Notes to Franny.

Shit. I knew it. There’s a bit more space left in this book, which I shouldn’t use in case I have to edit whatever it is I wrote on the other side going the other way. What happened is: I turned the light out, which of course makes me very awake. And I was to thinking that I wanted to be clear that I didn’t hold anyone in higher or lower esteem for what they are or believe. We are victims of what we have been told. So from that, I was thinking of Byron, not for a connected reason, mostly because he’s the man. I believe he was getting out of a car on Queen Street in my head and I happened to be passing on foot. Both feet interchanging. He said something about the car and I assured him I was an atheist. He asked for an explanation. I don’t believe in the Goods God. Good God? No. Goods God. The god of consumerism. Consumerism, the religion to make mockery of all other religions. Need I say more? No. But I shall. Maybe not. I just want it to be clear that consumerism is a religion. Those who don’t accept the religion are looked down upon in most cases. A friend of mine left the religion almost completely. People are very worried about him. I try to avoid it when possible and buy second hand if I can. I’d rather not work hard at a job just to have nice shit. Should I one day succeed at writing, I’m sure Wiebke will convince me we need a few more things. Luckily for me, she isn’t at all obsessed by it. What was it who said in ‘David Copperfield’ about, I must paraphrase, the shittiest thing to make a sure mess out of a marriage is having different directions. Nothing at all like that, but I didn’t want him to marry Dora. It made me angry. It was dam obvious who he should have married but I won’t go on and spoil the book. So back to Wiebke. First time I met her, in the Squeeze club no doubt, she didn’t want my parents to know that, but the Squeeze was one of my most comfortable places. I had no fear to talk to people in there. I considered it my wreck-room. Anyhow. At my age, I knew well there had to be many things in common, especially beliefs and direction for a relationship to work. Longer than 2 weeks, I mean. She sat down with her cousin and Sue. It wasn’t too many seconds before, they might have been there before me, yes I believe so. I was coming from a work out and often stopped for a water or coffee and a chat with my good friend Catherine or when she was gone, Suzanne. I can’t remember now, but I think Catherine was gone. Anyhow. Even the back of her head interested me. Maybe the long blond hair, I don’t know. The front of her head was a lovely face. Luckily, Sue was someone I could easily talk to so I went over to the table and started in on it. It was Blue Jay parade day and I’m sure I said all this before so I stop and get to the point, that for 15 or 20 minutes, I practically interviewed her. Starting general, then getting more specific. Everything was exactly right, including coming form a foreign country. And of course, having a boyfriend. Since the whole thing was completely impossible, I was much more interested. But the important thing was that our, shit, how do you say it, were most compatible. That was over 2 years ago. Now we are married, have 6 children. Four cars. Two houses. A Swiss bank account and at least one set of parents wondering what the fuck is wrong with us. Hey! But that’s okay. We’re out to lunch together. So we eat a little more pasta than steak. Steak ain’t all it’s cut up to be anyhow.

_bunniestop_

Wait. Just one more thing. Though I think this poetic justice shit can get carried away with Dickens, I think - oh fuck it. I was going to say. I hope I don’t sound mean or unjust to anyone. I haven’t called anyone a cunt. You know who you are. Not you, Franny, and I might be just kidding. Only someone at the mockery fatal attempt at a play might know.

S ‘Don’t you say anything. It ain’t nice and I’m sure I’d get sued for slander.’

No name ‘But she is a cunt.’

S ‘Fine. Leave it be. Everyone has a different way to deal with life. Maybe we just don’t fully understand this person’s problems.’

T ‘Shut up.’

S ‘Fare enough. Well said. Shan’t hammer on it.’

Now can I fuckin’ well go to sleep and save some ink for later?
New voice ‘No. You tell me if you mean me.’

S ‘Of course not. Very likely do I mean anyone. Stop being paranoid. It’s just a word. Cunt.’

It ain’t such a nice one. I know it offends people especially if they have one and don’t like to have it called that. And usually it all, I wanted to say incumbent but I’m not going to say anything at all.

1,2,3,4.

Sn ‘More coffee?’
T ‘He’s not allowed to have anymore, he’s starting to act like a cunt.’

S ‘And how’s that? Very sweet and desirable?’

I suppose if we could soften the word to make is sound more fluzzy it would go down much better.



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. barbaralba_part_01



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