the karma laundry presents

Two Lost Souls

In Shorts on 12 March 2016 at 1:22 pm

…swimming in a fish bowl. Year after year.

“I’ve cried too many tears for you” she said, being over-dramatic as usual. Then she cried some more. We’d broken down again on the A27 and we all knew this was probably the death knell for our tired old Citroën. She kicked it listlessly in the radiator grill, as the drizzle came down, soaking us both. I wasn’t sure that lines from a break-up song were essential for a small French hatchback on the way to the knackers yard. Perhaps we could send it off with a bit more rock and roll.

“This is the end, my friend,” I suggested, “my only friend, the end.”

She wept more, and harder; so much so it was actually distinguishable from the run-off of rain caused by the inundation. “I’m talking about you and me,” she said resentfully.

“Oh,” I replied. Is that a song too?

“You prick,” she said, kicking the Citroën in the bumper. I wasn’t sure if I’d asked that question out loud, and therefore, I also wasn’t sure if the prick was me, or the Citroën. And I wasn’t sure if I should ask for clarification, either.

“What are you saying here?” I felt that was a smart compromise.

She sniffed, and wiped a string of rainwater and snot on her sleeve, and made a sort of gurgling noise that I took for an attempt to indicate new resolve. The bonnet of the Citroën was up and at that very moment there was a sudden hiss, a small ejaculation of steam and what I could only assume was an electrical ‘pop’.

“It’s better to burn out, than to fade away,” she told me, giving me a penetrating look. Well, that didn’t help at all.

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