The newspaper lying on the mat, face up; Hazel Atkins: Missing. You go back upstairs and puke up all the pancakes and the tea, a flabby man on his knees before his bog, a flabby man who does not love his country or his god, a flabby man who has no country, has no god – You don’t want to go to work, you don’t want to stay in the flat: A flabby man on your knees.
I like to tweet from the kindle what can i say
