We only talk during commercials; thirty second info jabs that have utility instead of heart. When I switch off she looks at me with trivial confusion, but it doesn’t last long: there are other things to watch. There was a time I worried that my life wasn’t built to script. That I was penned in a stagnant formula. It’s not important anymore. We’ve all been badly writ. It’s printed right there on our genes and acted out with the flawless inevitability of a soap opera rerun. All I have now are the breaks. They’re the only thing that’s new.
Short bio: Nic Addenbrooke is strange and confused. He spends his time trying to explain himself to himself and writes things down at Afewshortwords.