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We haggle, ‘cause I’m a stingy git—fifteen quid, final offer. She rolls her eyes, mutters “cheap bastard,” but off we go, her heels clackin’ like a typewriter. Me mind’s racin’—what if the coppers nab us? Or worse, me mum finds out? Angry as a hornet I am, at meself fer bein’ such a numpty, yet happy too—freedom, thou art a tart in fishnets!

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I’ll be honest, sometimes I get mad at the potholes on Church Street. Potholes, man—they can ruin a good spin on your wheel, couldn’t they? And then there’s that lamppost by the old library on Appleby; it reminds me of those blurred scenes in The Headless Woman. “Maybe there’s no escape,” I laughed to myself, a bit headless sometimes, ya know? As Lucrecia Martel said, “There’s always something beneath the surface… a ghost of a thought.” Spooky, right?!

Suffolk police: Car collision in Nesconset injures 2 drivers