Witches Tit! That's what they're saying, the voices that chatter in the dark spaces in the shadows in the doorways of unoccupied flats. Snap, crack, the lock turns and the bones grind, chilled to the core. Throw them a blanket, I say – the boys who live off others like barnacles on the rotting stumps of piers – give them nothing more.
The trick is to find a jetty that will stand the test of time, and not be sucked away to nothing, as if by an over enthusiastic tick! Deflated like so much air out of a soccer ball, as the poor kids stand around with it at their feet wondering what on earth they will kick next.
Yes, they’ve got their eye on our spare room; does it do our souls some good to give someone a home? Keep coming we say, the aesthetically pleasing and the audibly astute – he who knows how to treat his surroundings with the quiet dignity it deserves.
And of course, the rule of the nest will always prevail – be ye true to whom ye live with and they'll never believe idle gossip from scheming sources – besides, email evidence, with ye name attached, has been logged and viewed.
I'd like to submit exhibit 1A for the courts pleasure, your Honour.
You Honour and his Associate will take it on advisement and will give our verdict when we have a need.
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