Confusions

Goole. I sit, as odd presences gather around me. What a shithole. I am genuinely scared for my life. I have never imagined so much being mugged or raped. Getting eyeballed. Oops. Me and the teenage mum are the only ones who don’t look like we’re here to hunt.

I think about all the strange, sad, changing and instinctive ways people treat each other. The ways men have acted. The things they’ve done. In a non-archaic, unpretentious sense. This is not poetic. This is certainly not poetic.

My vagina cringes.

I imagine flash shot confusions of – paranoid fantasy? Flash forwards? – detailing the expanse of possibilities in that little lost space-and-time. Out of my depth. Wouldn’t be heard. Nothing to stop them. Except The Norm. Praise be to that and let me live this trembling unlikely nightmare in silence. Unturned. Don’t give them any ideas. The dogs. The dirty, scary dogs.

A welcome bit of naive reassurance from a friend, and a grasp at a sparse response from a partner. Surely this shouldn’t be such a big deal.

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