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Py:   Dark, dour, impeccably cool and still impossibly drunk after another bloody night out, and our particular brand of overindulgence.   Breezed into town again this week, with the usual lack of ceremony.   Began each evening by telling me frankly I was a fuckwit for getting ambushed like an amateur, and moved onto irritable tirades about having hunted Amelia across continents when she was playing with me.   Lapsed into surprising personal histories after a few more pints, and messed up my hair fraternally then fell asleep diagonally cross the only fucking bed the minute we’d stumble home.

Daisy:   Immortal octogenarian imbued with anti-macassars and attitude.   Owed me some favors for wrongful accusations, so Jonathon’s obliging ‘grandmother’ paid off the rent debt at the old apartment.   Then she went to visit Principal Keech and withdraw her ‘grandson’ from school to ‘grieve for his poor uncle‘ (deceased), before posting yours truly some new knitted gloves – with the appropriate number of finger holes…

Cat:   Feline, fearless, ferocious, fangmeister.   Tracked me down in order to claim the one motel sofa and my new gloves as bedding, and is possibly more dangerous to attempt moving than Py is.

Yours Truly:   Settling into an unsettled unlife.   Typing in the room’s remaining chair while Py snores, the Cat kneads Daisy’s present and dares me to try, and the dark things close in – to keep the darker things at bay.




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