73: sex dream #3

I am having sex with Carol's knee.
Carol is lying frozen and silent around her knee.
Carol's knee is almost making a noise.
I stop having sex with Carol’s knee.
There is no noise.

autistic wizard-child

once the 'supermarket nightmare' is over, i am going to write a novel about an autistic wizard-child. i am going to post it on here, one chapter per hour. it will be set on the 11th of September, 2001. it will be set in New York but also partly in an as-yet-fictionally-untapped country. the autistic wizard-child will go to the foreign country and learn something incredibly profound and moving about it.

the autistic wizard-child will not die at the end.

there will be an awful lot of magic and adventure and clues to solve.

the jacket blurb will read, "An unforgettable portrait of a wounded country and a deeply moving story of family and friendship. It is a beautiful, heart-wrenching story of an unforgiving time, an unlikely bond and an indestructible autistic wizard-child."

the novel will be exactly 120,000 words long.

72: Carol, sitting there

I am walking home. Carol is probably still sitting in the café, not moving or saying anything. At nine or ten or eleven or whenever it is the café closes no one will know how to move Carol out of the café. They will look over at her awkwardly, talk quietly amongst themselves behind their hands, and then shake their heads. They will tidy up the tables and stack the chairs around her and turn off the lights and lock the door, and leave Carol still sitting at the table.

71: cloud

I don’t understand, says Carol.

I’m breaking up with you, I say.

But you already broke up with me, says Carol.

I’m breaking up with you again, I say. To make sure.

Carol doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t move or blink or sip her tea.

I’ve met someone else, I say. I’m going round to her house for dinner.

Carol still doesn’t say anything.

She has gone behind a cloud.

How’s your knee doing these days? I say.

Silence.

untitled 'please write my novel for me' competition

i am going to stop writing the 'supermarket nightmare' after 100 chapters.

if anyone wants to continue writing it after that, please send your application to chriskillen at gmail dot com.

please say how many chapters you are willing to write, one a day. (you don't need to write the chapters every day if you don't want. you could write them in advance and just post them one a day. they can be one word long if you like.)

the person who says the biggest number of chapters will 'win'.

i will link to you. about 40 people a day read this. you can do whatever you want with it. i really won't mind. you can murder all the characters if you want.

lost cactus nightmare

my friend Gina has a short story here.

70: break up with Carol, again

Carol is already at the café. She is sitting at a table near the window. The table, and a bit of her skirt, are obscuring her knee.

Carol’s knee feels obscured. It feels like something in costume, something peeking out from behind a mask. It feels playful and indestructible.

Carol is drinking a cup of tea.

She sees me come in.

I don’t go and sit with her straight away. I go and buy a tea first and carry it over to the table.

You’re late, she says.

Hi, Carol, I say.

You’re three quarters of an hour late, she says.

Sorry, I say. I was flyering on my way.

Flyering for what? she says.

For Ian, I say. Ian is lost.

Oh, she says.

There is a long pause. I sip my tea. Carol sips her tea. I sip my tea again.

This is hard, I say. I don’t quite know how to say this, I say.

Say what? Carol says.

That I don’t think we should see each other anymore.

69: tea

The phone rings.

Someone picks up.

Hello? they say.

Hello, I say.

Hello, says Carol. What do you want?

I was wondering if I could see you, I say.

There is a pause.

I don’t know, says Carol.

Just for a cup of tea or something, I say.

Okay then, says Carol. When?

We arrange to meet at the café near her house in an hour.

68: the police

Maybe I will call the police.

I stand by the phone in the hall, wondering if I should call the police and tell them that Ian has not come home now for 48 hours.

I pick up the phone.

I dial a number.

It is not the number for the police.

67: lost housemate

Last seen on Monday. 28 years old. Tall. Quiet. Confused-looking. Likes bikes and Kate Moss and internet porn. Answers to ‘Ian’. Peaches or apples or bananas reward (your choice).

66: lost dog

When I get back to the shop floor, I try and concentrate.

The Turtle is hovering around behind me, ten metres away.

Peach fountain, she says.

Yep, I say.

Quickly, she says.

Carmella’s tita, Lucinda, will feed me up. She will feed me until I swell and explode. It will be nice. We will laugh about it afterwards.

I try and arrange the peaches.

The other fruit and vegetables, meanwhile, are sorry-looking.

Browning.

Wizening.

I pause for a second to look at them.

Crack.

Ow.

*

I clock out and get my coat from the cloakroom. Carmella’s coat is gone.

On the way home, I pass a sign for a lost dog sellotaped to a telegraph pole.

Lost dog, it says. Last seen on Friday. Brown Irish mast-hound. Gammy leg. Answers to ‘Pippet-Face’. Ten pounds reward.

I get home.

I go and look in all the rooms.

Ian is still not home.

65: invite

At lunch I decide not to sit in the staff room. It isn’t raining, almost sunny, and I go and stand in the carpark instead.

I wish I still smoked.

I wish I wasn’t working in a supermarket.

I wish I was living on an island in the Philippines.

I wish Carmella was there.

I wish The Turtle was an actual turtle – that one night she wakes up in her bed as a turtle and comes into work – and I just pick her up and put her in the sea and watch her swim away. (Or even just zoanthropy: that The Turtle imagines one day she is an actual turtle and gets the sack for crawling around and chewing the lettuces and things.)

I start walking across the carpark.

I see someone in a supermarket uniform standing next to someone not in a supermarket uniform. They are standing next to a car. The bonnet of the car is up.

I walk in their direction.

When I get nearer I slow down; Carmella and a woman.

I sort of sidle diagonally past them. They don’t notice.

I get to the end of the carpark, turn around.
They’re still there, looking at the car and talking about something.

I sidle past them again in a snaky movement, looking down at my shoes.

Hey, says a voice. Carmella’s voice.

I turn to look. She’s waving.

I go up to them.

Hey, says Carmella.

Hello, I say.

Hello, says the woman.

Oh, says Carmella. This is my tita. Tita, this is my friend, _____. _____, this is my tita Lucinda.

Hello, I say.

I am Carmella’s friend, I think.

We have spoken once.

I am her friend.

She knows my name.

Lucinda smiles at me.

Do you know anything about cars? says Carmella.

A bit, I say.

Oh good, says Lucinda.

Oh god, I think.

My tita was doing some shopping, you see, and now her car won’t start up, says Carmella. Do you think you could take a look at the engine?

Sure, I say. No problem.

What am I doing?

I go and look at the engine. It looks like an engine. There are lots of pipes and things coming out of it, rubber tubes and valves and stuff. I nod my head a couple of times.

What do you think it is? says Carmella.

Might be the carburettor, I say.

Where’s that? says Carmella.

Um. Kind of over here.

I point vaguely at the engine, making sure my finger moves around a bit and doesn’t point towards anything too specific.

I’m not completely sure though, I say.

Oh, says Carmella.

She looks sad.

Sorry, I say.

That’s okay, Carmella says.

Carmella? Lucinda says. Then she says something in a foreign language.

Carmella and Lucinda talk in the foreign language for a while.

It sounds nice. It sounds a bit like birds chirping.

Then Carmella says, My tita was wondering if you would like to come to our house for dinner one night. She says you look thin. She says you need some feeding up.

This is not happening.

Um, I say. Okay.

Carmella and Lucinda smile at me.

Great, says Carmella.

I’d better get back, I say, looking at my watch.

Okay, they say.

Okay, I say.

I wave.

They wave.

I turn and walk back towards the supermarket.

Dinner.

Carmella.

Lucinda.

My stomach feels like a shook-up snowglobe.

64: peach fountain

I try and arrange the peaches on the shop floor. The Turtle hovers ten metres behind me at all times. I work quickly, making the tower of peaches into a sort of triangular-shaped thing.

No, says The Turtle.

Then I make the peaches into a sort of circular-shaped thing.

No, says The Turtle.

I start making the peaches into a sort of cross between a knee-shaped thing and a Philippines-shaped thing when The Turtle says, Hold it. Basically hold it right there.

I stop.

Follow me, she says.

I follow The Turtle off the shop floor and up the stairs and up another flight of stairs and into a small room which smells like old wigs. There is one chair in the room. A projector. The Turtle stands next to the projector.

Sit down, says The Turtle.

I sit down.

She turns on the projector. It projects a picture onto the wall. The picture is of the entrance to the Arndale Centre.

Now watch closely, says The Turtle.

I watch closely as she plays a slideshow of the Arndale Centre, and then the Thorntons in the Arndale Centre, then the chocolate fountain in the Thorntons.

She plays about a hundred slides.

Some are extreme close-ups, so extreme you do not know what you are looking at.

See? she says, occasionally. See what we are basically up against? Those Thorntons. Those fuckwits.

Sometimes she cracks her whip at the picture projected on the wall.

When the slideshow is over, The Turtle looks at me for a long time.

Now do you see what I’m getting at? she says.

I nod my head.

I wish I understood even 16% of what she is getting at.

63: direct competition

I start working. I go into the store room. There are three new towers of fruit in the store room. The Turtle follows behind me. She stands about ten metres away from me. There is a new tower of apples in there and a new tower of bananas, and now a new tower of peaches.

What’s this? I say.

No one answers.

I turn round and look at The Turtle.

She is standing looking at me, the whip dangling from her hand.

What’s this? I say.

She looks at me blankly.

What? she says, after a while.

This, I say, pointing at the tower of peaches. What’s this?

It’s basically a tower of peaches, she says.

I go and stand next to the tower of peaches. I touch the side of the tower of peaches. It feels warm and confusing. Peaches. A tower of peaches.

I think of Ian. Ian was still not home this morning. I will ring his mobile. (Why did I not ring his mobile last night? Why am I standing next to a warm and confusing tower of peaches? Where is Carol’s knee?)

The Arndale Centre, says The Turtle.

What? I say.

The Thorntons in the Arndale Centre, says The Turtle.

I don’t understand, I say.

Basically, she says, we are going to do the same thing that the Thorntons in the Arndale Centre are doing with their chocolate fountain. We are directly in competition with the Thorntons in the Arndale Centre, except we are going to compete with them using a tower of peaches. Basically I want you to make that tower of peaches into something that competes with the chocolate fountain in the Arndale Centre, she says. Quickly, she says.

Oh god, I say.

What? she says.

I don’t know, I say. The Philippines.

Crack.

The whip lashes my neck. It feels hot and terrible. Very painful. I touch it.

Ow, I say.

What did I say? says The Turtle.

What? I say.

Crack.

Ow.

I said, no more talk about the Philippines.

62: joke

I go to the shop floor.

It is after nine.

The Turtle is waiting for me. She is holding the whip and looking at her watch. She looks up at me and smiles.

Good morning, she says.

I don’t understand. I wait for the whipping.

Good morning, she says again, more forcefully.

Good morning, I say.

Where is the whipping?

Right, she says. Basically, today we are going to be fructuous.

She raises her eyebrows at me. She makes a strange face.

I don’t know what to say.

Fructuous, she says. Today we are going to be fructuous.

If you are going to whip me, I think, then just whip me.

Fructuous, The Turtle says. It means ‘fruitful’.

She raises her eyebrows again and makes the face. The face looks strange, like something seen through a smudged window.

I’m basically making a joke, she says.

Oh, I say. Okay.

Fructuous, says The Turtle.

Okay, I say.

Laugh, she says. Basically, laugh or I will whip you.

I laugh at her joke.

Now start working, she says. Start working or I will whip you.

61: walled city

I get up at 6:45.

I stand in the shower.

I get out of the shower and look at the clock.

It is 8-something.

I walk to work.

I get to work for 8:50-something.

I go up to the staff room. Carmella’s coat is hanging up. I hang my coat on the hook next to hers. I take the arm of my coat and use it to stroke the arm of her coat. I put the sleeve of my coat in the pocket of her coat, and then stand back look at that for a while.

At first it looks romantic.

Then looks like my coat is stealing something out of her coat.

I take my sleeve out of her coat pocket.

Today I will talk to Carmella.

I will ask her if she has been to Makati City, the financial center of Metro Manila, with its high-rise buildings, and home to the biggest companies in the Philippines. I will ask her if she has strolled down its tree lined avenues (which are a welcome respite from the pollution and traffic of Metro Manila).

Then I will ask her if she has been to Intramuros, the original walled city of Manila, where the Spaniards used to hold government on its grounds. I will ask her if she has been to the famous Manila Cathedral and nearby the San Agustin Church, which are located within its walls.

I will somehow work these questions very naturally into our conversation, and not sound like I have just been googling the Philippines all night.

word request nightmare

okay. that is all the word requests.

here is the complete list:

anarcho-syndicalist (done)
intrauterine (done)
Intramuros
fructuous
fountain
slideshow
Lucinda
snowglobe
carburetor
zoanthropy

i am a bit bummed out that no one chose 'candle' or 'apple' or 'hat' or something kind like that. but still, thank you for entering the word request nightmare.

60: sex dream #2

I am having sex with Carmella.

She is using an apple as an intrauterine device.

also

i am still taking requests.

there are six words left.

i have already worked in the first one. see if you can find it.

forthcoming

i have a couple of short stories forthcoming. these will be printed ones.

'detective story' (see this post) will be in issue #9 of Transmission magazine, published 28th of September.

an expanded version of 'the man in the road' (see this post) will be in the Offbeat Generation anthology (Social Disease), published sometime later this year i think.

59: 'early'

I turn off Ian’s computer and stand in the middle of the room. I imagine I am Ian. What do I do next? I walk over and open his sock drawer. There are socks in there. I will put some on and have a nice lie down.

I wish I was Ian, in here, having a nice lie down in my socks, and not out by himself somewhere on his birthday.

I am not Ian.

I am on a special new ‘early shift’ tomorrow. This is The Turtle’s invention. She says I should basically just turn up as early as I can and she will be waiting for me and then she will decide if I have turned up early enough. If I have not turned up early enough she will whip me.

I imagine starting an anarcho-syndicalist group: destroying The Turtle and my boss and just working for ourselves. Me, Carmella, the replenishment assistants, standing amongst the ruins, waving the plastic bags over our heads like violent orange flags.

Then I need a wee.

I look at the clock in Ian’s room. Half three in the morning.

Ian is still not home.

Birthday.

Suicide attempt.

‘Early shift.’

58: www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&q=Carol%27s+knee&btnG=Google+Search&meta=

I google Carol’s knee.

Something about biking, and Carol’s knee ‘flaring up’.

Something about something ‘landing on Carol’s knee’ and on someone else’s hand.

Something about Carol’s knee being ‘fractured when an oven fell onto her, pinning her against the counter. “I couldn't move,” said Carol, pictured right.’

I look to the right for the picture. There isn’t one.

I image search Carol’s knee.

A woman called Carol Knee Peters.

A few ‘roommates’ called Carol.

No pictures of Carol’s knee.

57: tita

‘Sexwand_52’ is filling the whole chat screen with the word “ooooooooooooooooooooooo” when I sign out.

I google the words ‘Philippines’ and ‘tita’ together.

I learn that “a ‘tita’ or ‘tiya’ is an aunt or any female relation of that generation in relation to you”.

I think of Carmella’s tita. She is a small woman with the same face as Carmella, but older. She is holding an armful of coats and smiling at me.

requests

i am now taking 'word requests'. if there is a word or name you want to see worked into the 'supermarket nightmare', please post it below as a comment. i will work in the first 10, in the order they are posted. it might take a few chapters for them to show up, but they will be worked in before the end.

[the rules:

please just post one word.
one word per person.
i will work in the first 10.
please be somewhat gentle and considerate with me.]

56: alone

I have forgotten Ian’s birthday. Even ‘Sexwand_52’ knew it was Ian’s birthday. Ian is twenty seven today. I have forgotten his birthday. I get up from his computer and go back into the kitchen. I go into the hall and then back into the kitchen. I go into the living room. Ian is out somewhere, alone, on his birthday. I go back into the kitchen.

I write “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” at the bottom of the note on the kitchen table.

I sit down and wait for Ian to get home.

I wait for what feels like a long time.

Finally I write “Ian, I am using your computer again” at the bottom of the note.

I sit down at Ian’s computer.

‘Sexwand_52’ has left 400 new messages.

55: birthday

[Sexwand_52]: hi ther badboy. u alrite?

With a reputation for being chaotic and corrupt, the Philippines has something of an image problem. But most who make the journey to the 7000-odd islands that comprise the Philippines are pleasantly surprised by their beauty and by the friendliness of the people.

Carmella is beautiful and friendly. I am pleasantly surprised.

[Sexwand_52]: u there? i am touching myself

[Bad Ian]: go away.

Most of the Philippines is laidback, stable and relatively safe. The locals are an exceptionally helpful bunch and there are fantastic reefs and fish. On top of this, transport is cheap, the food is good, accommodation is plentiful and (for the monolinguistic) English is widely spoken.

[Sexwand_52]: im thinkin of what u told me last time

Carmella exceptionally helping me talk, monolinguistically, to her about her coat in a laidback, relatively safe way.

[Sexwand_52]: i hav a candle up my ass. my assssssssssssssssssshole.

[Bad Ian]: this isn’t Ian. this is his flatmate. i am just using his computer. go away.

The Philippines (Filipino: Pilipinas), officially the Republic of the Philippines (Republika ng Pilipinas; RP), is an island nation located in Southeast Asia, with Manila as its capital city. The Philippine Archipelago comprises 7,107 islands in the western Pacific Ocean. The country reflects diverse indigenous Austronesian cultures from its many islands, as well as European and American influence from Spain, Latin America and the United States.

[Sexwand_52]: now i am litin the wik for u. ooooooooh yeh!

Filipinos are mostly of Austronesian descent. Filipino minorities include American, Spanish, Chinese, and Arab ancestry.

A former Spanish and United States colony, the Philippines has many affinities with the Western world including Spain and Latin America due to three centuries of Spanish colonial rule. Roman Catholicism is the predominant religion, and Filipino and English are the official languages.

[Sexwand_52]: it IS ur birthday today right?

54: google

When I get home I look in the house for Ian. Ian isn’t home. I write a note and put it on the kitchen table. The note says: “Ian, I am in your room, using your computer.”

I go into Ian’s room and sit down at his computer. I turn it on.

There is a toilet roll next to the computer.

I connect to the internet. A pop-up chat box appears on the screen. It tells me I am signing in under the name ‘Bad Ian’. I open Internet Explorer and type ‘the Phillipines’ into google. It says I spelt it wrong. I click the correct spelling.

A message appears in the chat box saying I am now signed in as ‘Bad Ian.’

I start reading some information about the Philippines.

A new chat window pops up.

A message from somebody called ‘Sexwand_52’.

53: standing

At lunch I go to the staff room. I try sitting in a chair but my back is too painful from the whipping. The Turtle. I eat my lunch standing up. All the people from the other departments are also eating their lunch standing up. We don’t look at each other. No one is speaking. Our backs are stinging.

Carmella comes in. She tries sitting in a chair too and makes a wincing face. The Philippines. She stands up and goes to one edge of the room. A couple of people shuffle aside to make room for her. She stands at the opposite end of the room from me. All the chairs and tables are empty.

52: The Turtle

Helen has a whip. She cracks the whip. She says that basically I must get all the fruit and vegetables off the shop floor or she will whip me. She says it is basically a management technique. She asks me if I have seen The Apprentice. I shake my head. She says she likes The Badger. I say I don’t know what that means. Helen says she would basically like me from now on to refer to her as The Turtle. I nod. She says, start working.

I start working.

Call me The Turtle, she says. Quickly, she says.

Okay, I say. The Turtle.

After a few minutes I look around. The Turtle has gone. I pause for a second. I put my hand against my forehead and close my eyes. The Philippines.

Crack.

The whip lashes my back.

Ow, I say.

Crack.

Ow.

The Philippines.

Crack.

Ow.

Nothing.

I start working again.

51: new manager

There is a new manager implemented for each section.

My new manager – the ‘Produce Manager’ – is Helen.

She explains it all to me. I understand everything she says. I understand too much. More than 100%. She says she is basically an ‘intermediary’ between the produce department and my boss. She says that basically from now on, if I have anything I want to say or do, re: produce, I should basically say or do it through her.

She uses the phrase ‘shape up or ship out’.

I imagine quietly ‘shipping out’ to the Philippines, wherever that is.

I ask Helen how much she knows about the Philippines.

She says, aren’t they basically a third world country or something?

I say I don’t know.

I make a mental note to use Ian’s computer when I get home and google ‘the Philippines’. I will also google the word ‘tita’. I will google them independently and then together.

She says, No more talk about the Philippines, young man. Basically only produce talk in here from now on.

50: it's one small step for Carol's knee

I’m collecting apples and bananas on the surface of Carol’s knee. Her once beautiful skin is ravaged and in disrepair. The fruit conceals itself inside pock marks and craters. It’s covered in knee dust. I try not to think about buffing. The low gravity makes each step light and springy despite my cumbersome spacesuit. Carol’s knee never used to suffer from low gravity. Or meteor showers. Or knee dust for that matter. She’s really let herself go since our break-up. It saddens me.

The communicator crackles inside my helmet. It’s my boss. Due to the poor reception on Carol’s knee I can now only understand 12% of what he says.

I make out the words ‘standing around’.

I want to tell him to go fuck himself but instead apologise for being momentarily deep in thought. It takes three attempts to understand that he ‘doesn’t pay me to think.’

My basket’s full and I bound back to the rocket. I open the hatch; apples and bananas immediately spill out. The rocket’s completely full.

My boss tells me to put more fruit in the rocket.

I pick up an apple and put it in the rocket. A banana falls out.

My boss tells me to put more fruit in the rocket.

I pick up a banana and put it in the rocket. An apple falls out.

My boss tells me to put more fruit in the rocket.

I pick up an apple and put it in the rocket. A banana falls out.

My boss tells me to put more fruit in the rocket.

I pick up a banana and put it in the rocket. An apple falls out.

My boss tells me to put more fruit in the rocket.

In space no-one can hear you scream bananas.


[note: this entry is written by Mark. it is the winner of the untitled 'supermarket nightmare' competition. thank you to everyone who entered. there were 18 entries. thank you.]

49: -99%

There is an emergency meeting called on the shop floor. The meeting is for all staff. We gather round, with bits of fruit and vegetables stuck to our shoes. There are six people in dark purple suits stood next to my boss. They are the only people without fruit and vegetables stuck to their shoes.

Now, says my boss. Then he says something else. It sounds like the most frantic, apologetic, confusing thing he has ever said. It makes way less than 16% sense. It goes swiftly and confusingly into minus figures. It creates a hole and then sucks small things into it; bits of dust, moths, fingernail clippings, etc. I feel them rush quietly past my ears and into the hole as my boss continues to speak.

The six people stood next to my boss look at him and nod.

Then he says two words at the end which I definitely understand. The words are ‘new’ and ‘managers’. He is looking at the people in the purple suits when he says this.

The people in the suits nod again and smile at us.

I look for Carmella. I see the top of her head, behind Dave who does the trolleys. Her head is moving a bit as if she is also nodding.

I try and think about the Philippines again.

Still nothing.

i am like princess diana

hey, look at this. someone has written a song about my novel.

48: nothing

I leave a long pause before I exit the staff room – long enough for Carmella to leave and for me to repeat the words ‘oh god’ lots of times to myself in my head. Then I try and think about the Philippines on my way down to the shop floor. This is very hard as I know nothing about the Philippines. I try hard to imagine it. Nothing.

The Philippines.

Nothing.

The Philippines.

Nothing.

The Philippines.

Nothing.

Etc.

47: the Philippines

Nice coat, I say.

Thanks, says Carmella.

An awkward pause.

Where did you get it? I say.

My tita gave it to me, says Carmella.

Okay, I say.

Another awkward pause.

I wonder what her tita is.

Which country do you come from? I say.

safety goggles

another short story, things to do today:, now online. this one was submitted, accepted, and published in under an hour. the beat are quick.

[note: do not read this one if you have a 'thing' about stuff going into people's eyes. i know some people do.]

"murdered"

in reference to this post, my short story I will murder the tiny break-dancing child is now online as part of Straight From the Fridge's one-year-anniversary issue . viva brutalism + party hats.

46: coats

I see Carmella when I go into the staff room and hang up my coat. She is hanging up her coat. I never see Carmella when I hang up my coat. I imagined there was another staff room somewhere which she used to hang up her coat. Her coat is long and black. It is a very neat and careful-looking coat. I feel embarrassed about my coat as I hang it up. I hang it on the peg furthest away from Carmella’s coat. I put a distance of at least twenty coats between our coats.

I want to say something to Carmella about her coat.

I clear my throat.

Carmella looks over at me.

45: mulsh

The job we didn’t finish is still not finished. It is not finished all over the floor of the produce department. The fruit and vegetables do not look clean or alphabetised. They look like they have been thrown around and trodden on. They are bruised and split open, turned to mulsh.

I try and walk around them on my way in. This is impossible. If they were alive they would be screaming. They are not alive. They are not screaming. I spend a few minutes clearing a path through them before I clock in.

ex-footballer

it looks like i have been found out.

44: walk to work

Maybe today will be the day I talk to Carmella.

I contrive situations in my head where I talk to Carmella.

I say interesting, soundless things to her.

Carmella laughs interestingly and soundlessly back at them.

At one point in my head I make Carmella cry.

At another point I make her fall in love with me.

We go on a cruise ship together.

We become shipwrecked on an island.

I hold her to me.

She smells of saltwater.

I will not talk to Carmella today.

43: sex dream

I am having sex with Carmella.

My penis is a banana.