Monday, 14 November 2011


Twelve steps. Left right left. Focus. Blink. Focus. Try to maintain sanity. A metal fork in white knuckled fingers. Stab. Gulp. Stab. I have to stop this. I grab the fork from the full blooded hand. I pull. The fork goes clashing to the ground. Covered in syrup.
'Don't eat my pancakes.'

Chris has a slight look of annoyance, mixed with the aura of shock that fills the small breakfast house.

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