Chapter Thirty-Two
The Art Of Winning
Bitterness ruins even the finest features of a face like a tomato in the sun.
Six months later - the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end.
As the sun rose I looked outside my bedroom window to see herself’s socks hanging on the pyramid. I watched as the Bag Lady pulled the redundant pole from the back of the garden and rammed it into the ground by her tee pee. She then pulled a slate from the newly erected shed and began to attach it to the top of the pole. I watched her spread breadcrumbs and a lump of butter onto the table and sit back as a robin jumped onto it. Puss made to jump, but the Bag Lady stopped her with a toss of conker.
I went back to bed hoping for more sleep, only to feel Puss on my bed, holding a rolled up sock in her
