Not X and I

SK Nicholas!!!

S. K. Nicholas


Notre-Dame burns and there are piglets on my mind, so many juicy, well-fed piglets. They burn too. Like a scrunched-up newspaper stuffed through someone’s letterbox and set alight at three in the morning down some quiet cul-de-sac off the beaten track. It’s one of those mornings where you drift for hours on end not quite here and not quite there, with your front door key in hand as if it were a lamp and its light was shining the way to the promised land. It’s somewhere that pulls in lonely souls such as yourself. A parking lot on the outskirts of a drowning town. A swamp from an 80’s video nasty you were certain you glimpsed for real when you were a weird kid with an overactive imagination and a hyperactive thyroid. A shopping mall with no functioning shops save for one lone newsagent you used to buy your cigarettes…

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