August 12, 2001

– What time did y’all stay up to?

– [sniff]

– Are you all right?

– No.  I am not all right.

– Um, well, what’s up?

– Rafal has just kicked me out of house.

– Oh.  Well, maybe he’s just hung over.

– It is not funny.

– No.

– How much for the bus, 60p?

– Yeah.

– What will I do?  I have no place to go?

– Don’t worry about it.  Wait until this afternoon and see what happens.  Don’t let it upset you.

– Easy to say.

– I know.  Easy to say, not so easy to do.

– 45 minutes until I go to work.

– 5 minutes for me.  I don’t want to walk in the rain.

– Me neither.

Women’s magazines always feature a smiling woman on the cover beside a caption like “The Terror of my Date-Rape Husband.”

You smell of sandalwood warm paper and you press hot gold into my hands.

I am beset by foul smelling alcoholic farting British men!  Their stink is so palpable they leave it behind them like fingerprints on a mirror.  A smudge of stink.



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