This morning I woke up and realised I wasn’t who I thought I was.
I’m not sure who I was, but it wasn’t me.
I sat up, confused and distraught for a moment while I worked things through in my head.
Then I realised I was still me.
I have a phobia of stairs.
Surrounded by darkness; looking up into the light.
It is reminiscent of stories of near death experiences.
Still, here I am, forcing myself on quaking legs up to the top.
That wasn’t so bad.
“Ah, there you are.” Says my great grandfather: “You fell.”
I could tell from the moment she walked into my office she was trouble.
She had legs all the way up to her armpits, tits til’ Tuesday week and an ass that wouldn’t quit if you put a bullet in it.
But I work for hard cash, not hard porn.
Cooped up all day, starting to get a bit of 'cabin fever'.
I could go into town.
I could do some shopping.
Maybe take a walk in the summer sun.
Maybe stop off at the pub for a drink.
I could be sociable.
But everyone's dead, and hungry.