Substance Misuse and Tennis
Good god a new Job Centre. What a postcode we've acquired. Trees out the window. The hum of opportunity. Men in small cubicles screaming hopefully into phones. Being told to go to one floor, then another, then back to the original one, apologised to, adminned at and ejected. She was a fizzy whirlwind and had nice-smelling teeth. Appointment next week and everything. Didn't ask me what I was reading, disappointingly, because it's a large book and after saying its title I was going to say usually I read books that weigh less than my head and we were going to laugh like dolphins and slap our fucking thighs off. It's the little things. But no.