Turning left.
You know how sometimes your fat pointy nose gets all scabby with sunburn and your big baw face puffs up with the drink and your eyes are like piss-holes in the snow and you think you might have type 2 diabetes because your body shape has gone all feminine and you might have some inner ear issues because you’re bumping off the walls like a knotless thread and there’s an invisible Martian brain slug drawing out your life force like a poultice while you sleep?
No?
Me neither.
Suck it up, is what I say.
We’ll have no moaning Minnies here. Life’s too short.
If a big hearty double knit outward bound type comes near me today and says how great life is, I shall bang his head off the fake maple desking solutions.

I wish it was summer.
That’s a crock.
I wish I was eighteen.