Shithole

It’s a bit depressing sometimes to look around another poky rented flat in an area with its arse hanging out and think, ‘this could be my forever home, now.’ This may well be the house in which I drop horribly dead, with questionable material on the laptop and serial killer trinkets in the drawer. I crawled this far to die in a shithole, with the seagulls fighting each other over the next door neighbour’s shitty nappies outside the back door while the cops taser screaming drunks outside the front.

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