10.1.7 malacca terminal

Tender fried chicken outlet. Selling 100 pound crabs.
That’s what the blind sister wants but, leg faulty mother
is talking down the numbers in front of a 25 year—old.

On the phone, sister is praying and complaining to me as I pump old, brown vomit from a soap dispenser in a toilet sink.

I have been eating cockles.

Cross line communication and mother is on the phone now from across the border. She says father is ordering a blue table designed by executive order. It will be expensive, with alternative dimensions.

I am hanging up the call but the messages still comes through a man with metal screws in his head. Father is spending money unreasonably.

I leave the eating village alone. But I am also still in a motel room waiting at a phone.

The man I was supposed to kill turns up at the car park.
He is telling me, my friends are out to weaken me but
I said, no! “You are weakening me.”

I show him my silver serrated hunting knife and he backs away, turning blue, tries to escape as I advance.

I keep yelling his full birth name. He vanishes with his lover.

Mother and sister is back from shopping, stopping by a short tree, trying to stop me from homicide.


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