Not a beggar nor a wino

“Excuse me miss, are you local?”  I turn with subtlety to retort. . .   “you could say that”.  I kept it short . . . I knew what was next  I sit on the bench; you know to get myself comfy  For this jack-a-nory.  I already know the story. But I give him his glory. Continue reading “Not a beggar nor a wino”

Methadone in the madness . . .

I’m sat on the settee with my love. He’s passing me grapes. The cat’s getting in on the action, purring away and lording it up. It’s the first glimpse of normality we have seen in days, if you could call our current life normal. It’s really late. My phone has died so I’m unaware ofContinue reading “Methadone in the madness . . .”