A Word from Mr. Pressman
I can’t even drink proper flamin’ tea and bitch-tits over there is staring at me as if she’s trying to work out my entire life story. You’d think she’d never seen a man reading a newspaper before. So I’m being scrutinized whilst I‘m drinking some of the worst decaffeinated on God's green and fragrant earth.
Sniffs the cup, winces and adds a sprinkling of sugar.
I shouldn’t really touch the stuff. Sugar I mean, got a bad heart and “it only serves to exacerbate things”. Fuckin’ doctor should mind ‘is own damn business. Told ‘im as much an’ you know what he says? He says ‘Mr. Pressman you haven’t got long if you carry on the way you are…’ and I says… I says ‘Shove it, get me that new heart or I'll peg it.’
I’ll do what I damn well please in the meantime.
I don’t really want to die, mind, I just hate them flamin’ upstarts. You know the types? He’s all young an’ single an’ professional, gym membership ‘n’all I bet with a pretty little sex toy to play around with whenever he wants.
I was that once, oh yes, might be an ugly old bugger now, but back when I was a younger man oooh could I swing a look from the ladies. Course I married Lydia cos my parents approved and she was no Cindy Crawford, face like a bull-dog chewin’ a hornets nest even on the rare occasion she was ‘appy.
ooks in Mrs Breen’s direction and mouths ‘Fuck off.’
(amused) She wasn’t expectin’ that. Look at her, you’d think I’d just told her how impractically ugly she was ‘n’all. Old Breeny was good friends with Lydia ‘fore she went and got in that accident. Cow thinks I ‘ad something to do with it. An’ regardless of whether or not I did, which I didn’t, but even if I did, which I didn’t, but just supposin’ I did, she should be very careful where she sticks ‘er pock-marked fuckin’ nose.
Nothin’ in this damn newspaper I want to read, just means I don’t have to look at her for long periods of time. You know the craziest thing? I used to think she fancied me before she decided to stick a note to my front door sayin in big red letters “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID”.
I wonder how her heart is. Not a drinker, so she says, or a smoker, fat as anythin’ but doesn’t eat too badly. Hah! Imagine the irony o’ that, she falls down dead and I ‘appen to be a match.
It could be her spiteful, crummy little heart keepin’ me alive whilst she rots.
Course, my issue is that I ain’t got a conscience, died years ago. Hazards of being a business man, first you lose your heart, then your hair, then you lose your soul. I figure, I’m definitely goin’ to ‘ell either way.
Looks in Mrs Breen’s direction and smiles slightly
Heh… why not…?