the last time i drove back from heathrow, i delivered my husband to a new lover. i didn't know it then. back from a journey, full of options, and that's the road we both ended up taking.
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i got a fine with my rented car. i guess that's the thing i do. i get a car, i get a fine. fine. fine, i don't care. i'll spend 50, 100, 200 pounds, what's it to me. i got the money. and i have nothing to worry about. no children to look after, no mouths to feed, no future to worry about. fine away, fine me again, i don't give a fuck.
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when i got back to the car park, we had left the side door open. wide open. and someone had gone in and tidied the A-Z into the glove compartment.
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drive back in the car, back from richmond park, back from the west, radio on, rev the engine. tussle your hair. go ahead and smile. smile all you like, it's just a stupid car.
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and there's no point arguing with the rental people. they told you one day, they charge you two days. and you get angry for nothing, because it's just a thing that happens and it's so little in comparison to all the big shit that's going down that frankly the best line is to walk away, walk away, walk away....
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mum's gone, leaving behind a trail of flowers and tidiness. i'll look after all of it, and maybe it will look after me back.
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