It was when she was picking up Hillbilly Cider, croissants and sour dough from the Arm and the Leg
Shop, that she heard them talking.
They didn’t have names faces recognised quantities known ingredients. There never were anymore there was a lot she couldn’t remember there was a lot she couldn’t forget.
But there were words here and voices there.
Hastily scribbled words fall-fall-falling off the blue lined pages of the Spirax notebook.
But there were voices here and words there.
In the Arm and a Leg Shop she heard them talking:
I’m over bodies and much more into pipes and pumps.
Sometimes I just want to fuck you.
I used to do drugs, now I’m into homicide.
Even though she’s lost her head, she still may have some leaf.
She heard them talking
she heard them