Fark it’s cold. Who’s shitty idea were it, to go on a road trip in December? It’s like I wanna punish me self. Got the seats flat in the back, and I’ve got that double duvet, and the all-weather sleeping bag I nicked of Camping Boy, and I’m fully clothed and sweaty like a pig-on-heat. I stink, but I’m past noticing, and I’ll never stink like you Sis. Or stink boy.
Lying in the dark, except for a street light, with the rain pounding on the window. Kinda lovely after a few smokes. Need to pick up some weaker stuff though, I’m caning this shit, and it’s proper bonafide Meadows skunk. I’m in a smoky little bubble in the back street of some random town. That would be proper lush, if it weren’t so farking cold. People have walked past and not seen me at all. I’m just a ghost. A past life. With the drizzle on the window pane lit pretty. Me and the drizzle merge like an inconsistent sigh. Neither happy nor sad, just, y’know alive.
I do miss home an ickle bit. Just not enuff to turn the car around. I miss my friends, I miss the warm pub and the craic. But I don’t miss goin home to that shitty damp flat, and listening to the couple upstairs smacking each other about. I can’t write too much tonight Sis. For one I can barely see the words on the page. For two, I’m just too out of it. I’m gonna dig into the cold pizza in the dashboard, bosh one more smoke and then curl up like a kitten.
But, y’know I love you and stuff. And I am thinking about what you’re going through right now. I’m not totally selfish to the bone. Anyway, nowt about owt. Love you and leave you. Night Sis.
Little Rue xx
Ps. nearly forgot, explain what ‘craic’ is to that Boyf of yours, I know he’ll assume I’m in a drug spiral otherwise. I can tell he thinks I’m the rough side of the deal.