What was that song? No, not ‘Who’s going to drive you home’ – sentinmenal schmaltz. Though I liked it.

I am breathing in slowly and blowing out through pursed lips, trying not to cry. If I cry I can’t see where I am going. Practical. I can be practical, you see. Breathe. Change gear. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’ve stalled. The cars behind are blowing their horns. Give me a break, please. I try to wave a ‘sorry’ cheerily out of the window. Ok, turn left. Down to the end of Hawkins Road. Right. Nearly out of town. Two more junctions. There’s a shop, do I need anything? No, they might know me and I might cry and I might not make it. Money, how much money do I have anyway?

Why wouldn’t you come?

Onto the main road, pick up speed. Change lanes, and cruise. It’s ok see, I can do it. I can do it.

Tracey Chapman. Fast Car. That was it. Drive

 

Why wouldn’t you come?

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