Zeal is not a virtue, unless you are a missionary. Yesterday is not for regretting. Xavier is my cousins name. Waifs and strays need looking after. Very pious people are usually liars.
The day of the funeral the sky is thick with fat woolly clouds, like a herd of pregnant sheep huddled together on the brow of the hill.
The mole hill gatherers come, with bucket and spade and barrow. At the early arrival of dusk. The fine milled soil gently lifted. To heap the bucket full. This crumbled earth, damp scented.
You used to shout at me like thunder. Now you just attack me with a look. You watch me black and blue. When the milk is cold or when there aren't enough Oates in your porridge.