mdm

__________ "How did you get on with your man" says she at the kitchen table - rolling a cigarette - this woman who has minded and held and picked up after for me for 48 hours. She is referring to a gentleman caller I had the evening before. "Grand" says I and allude to the fact that I am alternately numb or high, and that he probably wanted to see for himself whether I was falling around the roads or ready to hurl myself over the quay. I am neither. I tell her that he said to keep going, no matter what,  and to keep writing.........  as I am her voice. Her voice. I am trying to put a hundred things in a bag, so I can finally leave the building, spinning in a circle in the permanently dark kitchen, wondering where the hell anything is in this ship of a house. It's a big ask - I tell her - finding the phone charger with the tiny teeth marks in the socket. How much more can I write? I ask. Can I tell the absolute truth about this? I am high and spe