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i was walking for ages even though i was pushing a bicycle. it didn't even occur to me to actually pedal as I was preoccupied with something that i didn't understand. house numbers descended and the sounds of diesel and petrol edged their way into my dying ear canals, but there was no variation, it all looks the fucking same in manchester. the sun dashed my hopes of respite and I counted smiles, total not one.

why i chose that door i will never quite know but it seems the easiest of things to explain right now against such variant weather. the knock at number fourty-three was one in advance of what i knew and was answered rather too promptly for my comfort. i stumbled with my words for a second and then greeted the young woman who so radiantly opened the door, almost enough to remind me of the eternal lightness of being. i had no reason or motivation and my causality was chaotic, but the retrograde familiarity of the situation gave me context. i rambled and promised and sounded like a general nutbag, i don't know if the tears on my face were present or i just remembered them from before. what i said, i cannot be sure of, but this anonymous person seemed to understand more that i ever could and after a few minutes of my somewhat pseudo-theological doctrine bullshit, she invited me and the bike in.

there was no literature to back me up and she was not gullible by any means but sometimes my charm precedes my perception, and i began to reach an apex of discomfort as i asserted matters of mortality. borrowing a date from an actual nutter, i proposed the twenty-fourth of the month as conclusive, and i could see her eyes and mind narrowing as i explored the thoughts i had never spoke of. she was more convinced than me, but nothing was new, i never managed to convince myself of anything anyway. the monologue drew on and i ellicited an eye of concern from the young woman, her previously attentive glare diverted and the confidence and enthusiasm wavered. she excused herself for a moment which gave me chance and reason to peruse the room without moving my body. ornaments minimally placed were contemporary and unusual, and the books on the shelf next to me implied escapism, liberlism, idealism and altruism. my self-assurances dipped as i thought she was probably calling the police or a weighty friend, but from the sounds of cutlery being jangled, i could hear that she was in her kitchen.

my heartbeat rose to be profoundly noticeable, and i could feel the sweat and adrenalin being pumped out in my decaying body. she returned brandishing a serated kitchen knife and set it down upon the coffee table in front of us. she hesitantly breathed a barely comprehensible word and diverted her gaze away from me.

it was there on a plate in front of me, whatever i had rambled to her about was the product of my inner desires, but there was evidently some barrier between my conscious and subconscious. hesitantly i slid the knife into my grasp and began to feel panicked - my inhalations became erratic and my limbs shaky. the blade traced around her figure in a staggered pattern as i let my focus on logic slip. our mutual breathing intensified and it felt like figurative frottage with the devil. as hard as i eased the logic out and passion in, i just couldn't completely lose control. i withdrew my hand brandishing the instrument of conclusions, and tried to prise my eyes open fully. she had her head bowed, but raised it and peered questioningly while i set the blade back down away from my hold. i told her straight - i could not do it. my coat was still on and bicycle in the hallway for which i made swift direction, but when i stood her lips quivered. i just wanted to hug her but it seemed so inappropriate. she didn't say anything at all as i motioned to the door, but when i saw her struggling to wipe tears from her cheeks it made me feel carnal compassion again. i felt shit and apologised but didn't hang around. i tried not to slam the front door and didn't walk like before. i had no idea where the road went but i rode as hard as i could manage


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