Henley to Oxford on the X39; that summer it was an oven. Itd been a hot day, a day for getting laid or else getting stoned, and my back was aching like a bitch.
I swear under my breath because of this sharpness between my shoulders, and this dirty-looking bearded gardener bloke on the next seat who smells of vinegar looks over and goes, When was the last time someone crucified you then?
At least, I supposed he was a gardener.















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