Little Dick Tracy may be a vile person. Certainly everything points to that being the case. He also seems to me like one of these men who bullies love out of people – that if affections are not forthcoming he extracts them with punches. Whether he needs a hug, a blow job or his arse wiped Little Dick gets what he wants via threats of arrest. He uses his position and power, and the tiny influence he has over a small group of men to conspire and drum up fake charges against someone if they do not comply to his demands. Little Dick turned up here not because he was drunk but because he is just as lonely as me.
It was gone 4pm when I finally heard sound from him. To my absolute horror the noises of him groaning and coughing and bringing up lungfuls of phlegm had brought me out of my own sleep. My immediate concern was had he been up and nosing about as I'd slept? The faint spray sound of the cistern refilling in the toilet told me he had. I cursed myself for being so fucking stupid. It seems that as soon as there is presence of another body (any body) in the flat that mine closes down in relief. The Devil himself would be welcome company right now.
Sat at the kitchen table I deliberated over what to do. It was an awkward situation. I felt weird knowing that Little Dick Tracy was awake in the living room and wondered what he would remember... what he'd think about waking up here. It was a hard one to call. Do I stroll in and offer him a cup of tea? Ask if he's OK? Explain how he got here? Tell him he pissed all over his pants then made me wipe his shitty arse? Or would that just annoy him? Would he then feel ashamed and try to evade his embarrassment with meanness? Just at that moment the telephone rang, serving as the perfect alibi to enter my own front room...
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i'm not sure how, quite yet, but i think this situation may be used to your advantage! good luck!
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No, sorry. I'm not scheduled for a visit until next Sunday.
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