One Hundred and Seventy-Eight.


Izzy circle


‘am I doing it right?’
there’s a giant hole in the tea-towel so it can hang on the hook in the kitchen
it seems like the giant hole somewhat undermines the purpose of the tea-towel
the tea-towel is far less absorbent with such a large chunk of fabric missing
‘am I doing it right.’
most of the sounds that come through the closed windows are outdoor noises
like cars and scooters passing and loud drunk voices and even some vague hint of music
the only sound that filters through the thin walls is a woman having a very delicate-sounding orgasm
‘am I?’


Sarah circle


It’s the sort of cold that gets into your bones
slaps your face, worries your leg like a mangy old dog
puckers your fingers, combs through your hair
makes you feel distinctly less kindly towards the whip-voiced woman
blaring about her shrink, her shrink, the word like a prize
eyes in her ears scanning round the packed restaurant
while the waiter pouring her water paints on a placid smile
floats his thoughts out on the horizon
When I had depression, she trills, my shrink –
Fuck off, lady, we’ve all had depression
all panicked on the train, all pissed ourselves just a tiny bit
just enough to mistrust trampolines and fear the elderly
all felt that teeth-crunching ice-howling cold
pawing at the window outside



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