Rosalind Minett - writer

Category: Short story

RM January 15, 2019

The Tall One said, ‘Here’s his bag. Any problems, Enid, ring me.’ He looked down. ‘Bye, Wilf, you’ll be fine. High five?’ He held up a hand with his fingers spread. I didn’t bite them, though they’re a good size. The front door closed behind him, leaving me in this new sleeping place. 
It smells of soap, long-ago cats, piss of Young not so long past, and sugar. My shoes are off, bag taken away. 
The female says, ‘Come and make yourself comfortable, dear. It’s nearly dinner-time. Hungry?’
I nod. I want to eat.

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