tea leaf

I've got a basement flat.

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Copyright © 2007, Michael M Wayman

I only work in the Big Smoke during the week. I've got a basement flat in an old Edwardian house. It used to be the servants' quarters in the golden olden days. It's cheap, it's rough, I only sleep in it. There's nothing there, just my clothes, some worn-out furniture and a coffee pot.

There aren't any curtains, you can look in and see that nothing's there. But people still break in, usually kids or junkies. Yeah, I know the old sash windows are easy to force, but there is nothing there.

Sometimes I catch them. The kids I grab by their clothing, I wallop them, I am not a nice man, and tell them to get the fuck out of it. I let the older ones fight me until they're exhausted, then I bind them with duct tape and kick them, I am not a nice man, and then I call the police.

She was a teenage girl and she fought as if her life depended on it, but after half an hour I had her bound up in duct tape, but I did not kick her, I sat on the floor and looked at her. What was I going to do with her? She was odd, she wasn't a junkie, she wasn't a teenager, no, she was in her twenties, and I had seen that face somewhere before.

About two weeks ago I was shopping in a big store, when a young woman rushed past me, chased by three suits who knocked me over. I assumed that the three men in suits were store detectives after a shoplifter. It was her.

What was I going to do with her? I looked at her. She smiled at me.



Have you read Sargnagel and Henry in jam?