I had a best friend once, but then the rules changed when I blinked and no one bothered to explain. I didn’t get it. I’ll never get it. But I do get this. There’s a place reserved in hell for skinny lattes, chicken fillets and the Brazilian.
I look crap in a hat. Fact.
I’m fine with the questions. Just keep the volume down. My head feels like Raskolnikov’s conscience. Leah says I drink too much, but I don’t think Hemingway ever considered it a problem. It’s not like I’m on the absinthe. Yet.
Pleasure’s a sin and sometimes sin’s a pleasure.
It’s all about reinvention, you know? Better friends, better clothes, a better phone. Life’s a battle, and who wants to be in the shit with the loser kids who shop at Sports Direct? Hanna thinks she’s all that, but she’s nothing without me. I’m basically responsible for her getting with Dan in the first place. He wouldn’t have looked twice if it hadn’t been for me and that’s a FACT.
Do these shoes make me look taller?
Or just a bit slutty? Stevie’s so flaming massive.
You’d know if we’d met. My hair is so thick and shiny you’ll think someone poured tar on my head. Except, you know – better. And more hairy than tar. Some of the guys on here are all, what am I going to say about myself but I’m like: easy. Hot. Rich. Hot and rich, yeah. I ride a dirt bike like a stallion with wheels and a carburettor. Just to be clear, stallions don’t have carburettors. Or wheels.
I’m like ice cream on a hot day.
You’re looking at me, I know. Girls don’t say no. They never say no.
Creature of villainy and death and needle claws in your groin. I am the light and the darkness, the scourge of the surgery, the stud of she-cats, the Nemesis of koi carp. Catteries slam their gates at my approach. Mice implode at the pad of my exquisitely silent feet. I plot the demise of commuters each day beneath the station footbridge and perhaps – one day – I may kill one. Freshly painted front doors carry the glory of my stink, for I am Cat.
You see midnight fur and ice-green eyes. You see whiskers long and white as bone. But you see nothing, for you cannot see the whirling maelstrom that lurks in my testicles.
I am Nigel. Fear me.
Except maybe Hanna. She’s OK.