Sunday, February 10, 2013

I want a fucking baby




So you are leaving now. Maybe you will sit on the plane next to a fat man who apologetically belches and spills over into your seat like the wine from your glass, or a baby who pleasantly surprises you by sleeping all the way through to the refuelling in Hong Kong, as wizened and peaceful as a nut. Sadly they later wake up, look at you and howl mercilessly until their mother gags them with sugar. You wonder why they are crying so hard until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window. You haven’t realised but when you kissed me for the last time I took a piece of you with me, it was your top lip (I was always fond of it) and your teeth gleam frighteningly in your mouth, like miscarried justice. Good thing you got travel insurance; did you read the fine print though?

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