Monday, 12 December 2011

#15 Corinne Smedley

No, I would never describe myself as lucky in love. My first husband was pecked to death by seagulls. Harrowing that was. He had this incredulous look on his face as if to say, “Why aren’t they just taking the bread?”

Derek was next. The age-old story. Man goes out for cigarettes, comes back, waits ‘til you're asleep and then dips your purse before fucking off in the Xsara Picasso with your sister. I should have known better about him. He was a Libra. You know what Libra men are like. And she was just my half sister. You can never trust a halfy.

But I suppose you’re curious about Donnie here. There’s no great mystery. He was decapitated having a fag outside the Shopping Centre when the “No Loitering” sign fell down. He’d have been tickled by that if he’d lived to hear about it. He always liked hearing about stuff like that.

Is it strange that I carry about his head about in a bag? I suppose so. But it’s all I have left isn’t it? I dunno. I just feel if I can hang on to this at least I might one day be able to hang onto a whole live man for more than five minutes. Does that sound crazy? I suppose it does. I won’t lie. It’s a great way to skip the queue at the offy.

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