My Diary: The Truth in The Centre Of Every Lie

June and I went out,‭ ‬each in an individual glove‭ (‬typically mine was missing the finger tips‭)‬.‭ ‬We clapped our hands together at the train station and watched the train arrive like a dancer taking a bow before her routine had finished.‭ ‬On arrival at the moon palace we ate pyjamas and underwear before watching an underwater eclipse.‭ ‬A man older than me pulled himself out of the swamp with his prehensile moustache,‭ ‬prompting me to write a joke on an undertaker’s lapel thinking he would probably never read it.‭ ‬I watched June walk a mobile phone round the block while I held onto an empty bag in case its contents escaped and then spoke to a much younger woman‭ ‬-‭ ‬a disapproving vicar searching for his church descended by parachute:‭ ‬both he and it were torn at the edges.

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