Tonight over dinner V. made a shock reference to my holiday at Hotel Northside.
"At least when you went funny last year you did something about it."
I couldn't bring myself to tell her I had no choice. That as I stared down the barrel of the gun depression was holding to my head, it was not me who intercepted the blow, but the law; and in this there was not so much as a smirk, let alone anything funny about it.
She then adopted a technique that my mother tries on me; in telling me what she wants to hear in the hopes that my subconscious will replace my previous views with the one that she is presenting.
"Your life is going well at the moment."
It was a statement, and not a question; making it harder and more dramatic to correct her.
Instead of answering, I finished my drink.
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