Bloody Feral Teen Drug Abusers
It's a fucking death-trap at poor Katie's; you wake up to a fucking home-made glue trap on the kitchen floor - the filthiest kitchen still in occasional use. Then it's spew in the laundry sink on washing day, because some dickhead equates or confuses freedom with the right to do anything he fucking feels, despite the fact that he doesn't lift a finger around here; because he feels free to fucking despoil someone else's abode without ramification.
Anyway, I spat the dummy, of course. But Kate is right, as she always is. I was young once, and I have to admit I did spew a few times last winter. The last time when I couldn't contact her, and thought I'd lost her again, and indulged in cheap cask wine. I've been drinking less destructively since; but if I did spew, I had to clean it up. Yes, I am an adult, and they are children, but compassion and patience wear pretty fucking thin when you are cleaning up someone else's spew.
I think I'm still an anarchist, a middle-aged one, and I am free to do anything I want to theoretically, but I don't spew in other people's sinks. That's a cunt-act.