A place where palm meets forehead, with the harsh slap of regret-tinged realisation echoing down our ear canals and into the strong omnivorous skulls of our human heads.
I'd forgotten that was on my lap.
Edging your way very carefully through but stuff is still shunted rudely.
The clocks have done what?
It's taken ages to get here. I've lost my wallet.
Making that noise by accident.
Rubbery gammon.
The last one has gone from the shelf. I'll just stoop to check at the back just in case. Yes. Gone.
Not my socks?
Haitch.
Made for TV.
Set in New York.
Falling asleep on the toilet.
It would seem the kettle was never actually on.
Hmm, that's an interesting thought I'm having. I'll just think about something else for a bit then come back to it. Hang on, come back to what?
It's all right, the other trousers are clean. At least they would be if I had cleaned them.
Consistently losing at Connect 4 to an eight year old.
Expired, eh!
Fascism.
That egg had consequences.
You really are just a complete git.
