YOWIEHUB

‘Black fingernails red wine.’ My Cambridge Audio-Evo sound system was blasting the Eskimo Joe vinyl. The greasy smell of sausage filled the kitchen as the fluorescent light splattered shadows onto the floor. The sausages sizzled on my scratched non-stick pan. My daughter told me last month that it was leaking ‘micro-plastics’ into my meals. I wondered if she even cared. She was older every time I saw her, colder. I grabbed some slices of Tip Top white bread and went to open the fridge. 6 pack of crown lagers, some western star spreadable butter and the takeaway container holding something from a while ago. My Dad used to drink crowns at Christmas. Butter, sauce, bread and meat. I can make whatever I want. Not much more to ask for than that.

The other day I got stung on the top of my head by a bee. It stung me through my ever-receding hairline. I rubbed the bump on my head as I stared into the pan of sausages. I ran out of sauce, or maybe I left it somewhere else in the house. Plain sausage is fine. I’m not fussy, I was never fussy. But they are better with sauce. The music continued to play loudly, the sounds entered my ears but I felt nothing. Side A finishes, I should flip it, but my hands are greasy and it’s an original press. Without the record, the only sound is the whir of the fridge. I sat down on my single sofa facing the plasma screen. Plate on my lap staring into the darkness. I couldn’t be bothered getting a tray, and there was nothing to watch.

The sausage tastes saltier as tears spill down my face.