We burnt all the skin. From the palm of my hands. With an old zippo lighter. And deodorant can. I went to the palmist. And asked her to read. No heart line,.
I was sitting on my hands at the top-deck of the 178, spitting cusses at my face reflected in the windscreen pane. Throwing insults and calling names. Filthy SMSs that you sent through the day, by sundown become tame, so I set it in motion again..