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Back to Py.   Because I haven’t said about our last conversation together.


So I’m there last week, under Py’s particular brand of ‘house-arrest’, and after our respective fucked-up parodies of human behaviours (temper tantrums, and silent treatments), the house is now very quiet.


And I can’t help it.

Now I laugh.  

Throw back my head and laugh my fucking guts out.


And wouldn’t you bloody know it? – that’s what gets Py feeling – well, let’s call it ‘sociable’, for the sake of argument.

“You’re entertained.”

And I am.

“Hell yes, man.   This is fucking ridiculous.   What are you going to do? – play nanny or warden or housemates with me for the next few decades?   Shit – I don’t even know what the fuck your problem is.   Flattered by the attention and all, Py, but – come on.   Since when are you so bloody irrational?   And  – avuncular?   And…”

I pause.   For effect.

“… emotional, for fuck’s sake?”

His eyes, that have been looking at the floor, are raised slowly – and even I wonder for a second if I’ve gone too fucking far…


Ah.   Yes – I have.




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