The number is 3068. Now, that's not a postcode, neither is it a street number, or even a phone extension, it is the anorexic bitches pin number. She gave it to me, in a stupor, when the pain wouldn't stop and her cash had. She couldn't really walk by that stage, so she said.
Sad really.
She and I ended up at The End of the World bar, drinking pints. Crying. Actually, she was crying and I was, ashamedly, enjoying it. Coaxing the full story out of her, lubricating the telling of it with beer after beer. She cried and said she'd be sticking her fingers down her throat before she went to bed and I got her another one.
Nice barman, his name was Lex.
She's got a pretty, more successful sister to who she doesn't speak. "Everything comes easily to her."
"Some people are lucky."
"Lucky? I hate her." She swigged on her beer. "But, she isn't as slim as me, he diet isn't as precise. She can't control her exercise the way I do. I've always had way better control than her. I have always been better..." She swigged at her beer again. "...in that sense." Some fluid spilled down her chin. She wiped it away with a flat hand.
Then I woke up. It was 5.50am.
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