“And then I do this,” she told him when they got home, flicking her hair and sitting astride him. “You'd better not do that,” he said afterwards, collecting his pants from under her pillow.
Somewhere else a heart shaped zeppelin floats on the horizon, a string of infants dangling from its tail, but right here there's just me and Fred, arguing outside Grand Central.
He lifted one up high and I thought Oh fuck he's gonna ram that down my throat or force it up my jacksie. Jesus' bearded head will peer out of my arse.