I want something scandalous to happen, I say. I don’t want it to involve me. Maybe. Somebody could climb onto the roof of the library – I point – and dance naked for a bit. Before coming to their senses. That would be nice.
R chews at the paper of her ribena lolly, which I hate more than H chewing her wooden Feast stick. I have ice cream guilt, and chicken and mushroom pie guilt, and not enough Milton and Jonson guilt.
The boy is not around much, he has so much work that it is pressing him into the ground and every day he wakes up a little shorter.
My mother will be happy to note I did some laundry today.
Goddamn Right 