Could there be anything worse than a meek drizzling Wednesday in Ashford? Pundits would argue that an eternity in hell with a white hot curling iron inserted into a once efficient rectum could qualify, but for the anyone who lived here, they probably would have loved to be in the fiery expanse of Hades with the searing hair straightened up their pooper, any day. The day was further confounded by the unassuming gangly unfeminine Sue Brayer that was heading down the high street almost like a gas, her poor doomed doggie trailed behind her like a sled, but not one carrying a happy bunch of kids up to the top of a hill for a wonderful winters ride, but a whole truck load of pain and ills.
Sue shuffled past the Park Mills shopping centre, heading towards a discount book shop, her tiny 'fold up to the size of a tampon' umbrella was not doing a very good job in protecting Sue's dowdy hair do, she was clearly taking this out on poor Pippin who frantically tried to get traction behind her, desperately trying to pick up the pace despite having about as much latent energy as a wotsit. Sues silly perm was beginning to reach its limit for absorbing water as the omni directional mist defied physics and got everywhere. Her fuzzy barnet was beginning to seep at the edges and she begun to look like a recently sacked clown (who was also recently widowed). Village books was not far now, unfortunately the near skeletal Pippin was now dragging along the floor with his tongue lolling as the choke chain did exactly what it said on the tin. Sue, due to her high level of female anger hormone, was currently 15% stronger than normal and could no longer feel that Pippin was not travelling independent of her, the sight of this childless love-free husk and her bedraggled dog sliding behind like a shit Indiana Jones would have pulsated the pity gland on any creature that was evolved enough to have an entire gland devoted to pity. As she arrived at Village books she didn't even look at the poor wretched Pippin and tethered his lead to the soil and water pipe and went into the shop without so much as a see you soon pat on the head. 'Fuking c**t, mumbled Pippin, in dog, as her husbandless dido enthusing shell of shit disappeared into the expanse of shadow and bad literature, which was justified as it was generally up to 75% off, so must be shit?
Sue flitted around the romance section, looking for something, a peek through the slightly open curtain of what it must have been like to have a good man, or any fuking man, to hold you and make you feel good about life. She may as well have femininely inserted the book, or put it in the pub while the football was on, as this would be the closest she got to a man. Meanwhile outside, a now dripping wet and still dying Schnauzer was casting a sorry shadow, a lady walked past with a small Shitzu, off the lead, it paused and looked down its nose to pippin, 'My good, look at the state of you man, it said in a patronising tone, what in the name of fuk happened to you? 'Cancer', replied Pippin, 'childless cunt in there wont do the deed and let me go, lonely you see'. 'The bitch, my charge would have me injected for peeing on the carpet', replied the Shitzu, whose name was Gary, 'Well, your a lucky fucker then, still got your knackers an all, replied Pippin, now head down. They parted ways, in the manner dogs do (quick arse sniff) and went about their respected business, Gary, to go home and have a lovely dinner and lounge about, For Pippin, to go home and dream of 'that injection'.
Sue came out, smile of a mad woman on her face, bag full of books, she would have plenty of time to read them, still without looking at Pippin, unleashed him from the pipe and walked steadily down the street, now with both hands busy, her perm was now taking the full force of natures most annoying weather offering, within a few minutes she looked like a sea sponge that had just had the shit kicked out of it by some undersea bully, meanwhile, Pippin dragged behind, and eventually just used the momentum, turned on his back and went to sleep, dragging through Ashford, bumping up and down the kerbs like a hairy python, nobody stopped to tell Sue, nobody spoke to Sue, she just made her way home, unclipped the lead, made herself a large cup of tea and started reading her book. In the hall Pippin just lied there like a feather bowa that had been lost at the beginning of Mardis gras, and found right at the very end, after being trodden on by millions of gay dancing boots. A sorry site. Sue drifted away, lost in her book, that was strangely about Aikido, the afternoon fizzled away, the telephone mast did not hasten once in its job of handling thousands of pointless calls and text messages, and of course, dishing out death rays for its theton lizard god. Eventually, the sun, as it did every day, got bored of being usurped by grey clouds and set angrily over Kent, Sue left Pippin where he laid and retired to the lonely cotton expanse that was her bed. It was only 8pm, but there was no point in staying up, meanwhile on her street, every single other person won £10 on the mid week lottery, all but Sue, all but Sue, the final sound she heard on this grey forgettable Wednesday, was the collective smack of a thousand kiddies being kissed good night by their loving parents.
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