I spotted that girl from the funeral whizzing past me in town today. She looks sadder than ever and God knows where she got the shiner from. Everyone in this bloody town is such a tragic case. It's like Eastenders.

I read in the newspaper about the sales girl who felt like putting her royal size five foot up my arse. She was brought in on suspicion of stealing the car but they let her go fairly quickly. Still, I bet it ruined her day. It turned out her name was Natalie Turner. My next step is to find her online and photoshop her face onto some pictures of porn star women in compromising positions and email them to Madame back at the whore house. Today is a good day! Forgive me a cruel chuckle, ha ha ha.

Things are also going well with Richard. That man's such a tightwad he has a pet quid on a string for vending machines. He's not even willing to fork out for a real hooker - he has to prey on poor defenceless kids like me because his wife won't let him in her Chamber of Secrets if you know what I mean. I bet you can barely get into her privates for all the cobwebs.

And I understand, I mean it's obvious I'm pretty. People tell me all the time I remind them of Siobhan Fahey from Shakespeare's Sister. Richard used to tell me I was a 'gorgeous slice of womanliness'. You should see his wife actually. She's had some work done on her cleft lip in the past. Nice enough if you like the ageing catfish look. 

In my latest frosty conversation with Richard he mentioned wanting to talk to me about something. He said in an odd way, which is probably an indicator that he's not really interested in talking. And, yeah, I'll do it if he pays me first. If he wants to treat me like a prostitute, then I'll act like one. I'll bleed the bastard fucking dry if I have to. I wouldn't be surprised if he was fucking the dead guy's sister as well. You know some women - grief affects them in odd ways and they go a bit loopy, and end up shagging anything that moves, because they think they're looking for love. Hah. An empty hollow fuck is what they're after and they know it. I mean why else would you all of a sudden become a grade A slut? It's fine, I don't have a problem with it. You lost a fucking family member, you go out and fuck a stranger. Must work some of the kinks out, know what I'm saying?

I haven't heard much back from the funeral lot actually, but Greg from the Crisis team's been keeping a bit of an eye on things. He used to see the Dwights in the past, I have no bloody idea what for. Anyway they're selling Dylan's stuff at one of the tables in the common at Phalscam - books, clothes, that sort of thing. So I thought, might have a gander down there later, see what I can find. And later, I see Richard. La-di-fucking-dah!

What else, what else? Sorry, I may be drunk. I went out with a friend. NOT Sandra, I fell out with her. Because I could get her sodding dress, so I told her 'Look lovey, they pretty much had store security threatening to frisk me. Deal with it. Bitch.' She didn't like that, and now she's not speaking to me. But it's pretty much the truth. Hey, I just remembered she owes me a packet of fags. Bitch. Anyway, I went out with Katey who's going through divorce proceedings. She's been fighting with Carl and the rest of his family to keep the baby, it's been a fucking ordeal for her, so I'm buying the drinks. As usual. Anyway I think things are better for her because she didn't bring it up again today. I could have wrangled something out of her I suppose - it's what my job's all about, but I'm not on duty all the time, am I? 

The End

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