All the thousands and thousands of half decisions I barely made eventually accumulated.
And now here I am, a puppet whisperer.
You can be a puppet with strings or a puppet with a hand up your ass.
Things they never tell you about adult working life.
The puppet withered under the harsh glare of the puppet master.
“It’s tap, step, tap, step step, you buffoon,” he said.
The lady whose son almost drowned said “of course it was a mother’s worst nightmare”.
As soon as she said it I wondered if she had had that one with the box puppets, the creeping dark and the man rolling the stone across the endless cold marble.