Weekend

Tomorrow at work they’ll ask me what I did on the weekend and I’ll lie and say “you know, just had a bit of fun” or something like that.
The truth is that on the weekend I mocked a few religions, declared a meal “the worst I’ve eaten” though it wasn’t, slept alone, and relaxed my hands on the wheel in yet another reckless game so the car strayed just a little onto the gravel.

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Cure

Once they classified “breakup grief” as an actual illness, there soon was funding and benefit concerts and searching for a cure.
So far, choc-chip cookies, good friends and a 12-week course of pills is what they’ve come up with.

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