Voices

Overheard in the clogged and narrow streets of Manchester:

“If you go, have a look for Ken’s bench, it’s lovely . . .”

“. . . there was rice, like sticky rice, with sort of vegetables and other stuff in it and an egg on top. You could see the yolk, so I was a bit, you know, hmm at first, but I put some chilli sauce on it and it was all right, actually . . .”

“I’ve got an orange one, it’s nice.”

“I saw that, too. It was very well done. It kept me awake.”

“What did we do before Greggs?”

“Only Wednesday, not that I’m wishing my life away . . .”

“I wish I could dress him up like he was my boyfriend.”

“Don’t know why they bother with MPs, no one wants them, do they?”

“I’m not going the doctor. If I go the doctor, I’ll never come out.”

“Hanging. That’s proper hanging.”

“Geoffrey’s all right for running gear, but it’s his shirts I worry about.”

“Last time I had mulled wine I ended up buying a jumper for sixty quid.”

“Fuck this, let’s go to Stockport.”

 

 

 

 

 

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