I’m thinking of opening a Narcissism Boutique. BIG i, something like that. Striped shutters. Closed. Sale. New stock.

Watching a movie on the Great Way, I’m derailed by inattention. ‘A fool who thinks he is wise….’ I wish it had adverts. Strong red boots, New eyes. Maps drawn in invisible ink whose place names are reminiscent of cheese, or paleolithic funerary rites.

She says, ‘I am discombobulated’. This business runs at a loss. Home is so full of truths, it would be adventageous to try a brand new lie, to invent a fresh vice, to forget the semi-coherent half-learned instructions i’ve imagined myself to be.

Remember the lit-up kitchen window in November as seen from the alley? And the day the cat died? ‘What do you remember?’ ‘O, its sheeny coat, drizzle, and ice cream. The smell.’ ‘Did you feel any grief?’ Pause.

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