I go downstairs to the cellar to touch a human being. There, amongst the mouldings and things, is Tim.
– Cuddle, – say I.
We cuddle.
– Don’t be upset. – he says, – It turns out to be a rather good day after all.
– I am not upset any more. Not after I wrote about it.
– Have you written it all out of your system?
– Yes. I actually would like something else bad happen to me, so that I can write about it with all the angst and anger.
– Maybe I should turn into a wife-beater, then.
– Maybe I’ll start singing then. Like Tina Turner.
-Singing?.. Hmm… I better think again.