Delores had left me.  She had just up and left me without so much as saying a “goodbye”, or even explaining why she was leaving.  So here I was in an empty house in an even lonelier bathroom smelling the vanilla scented candle she left behind and taking a shit.

Nigel was a very popular socialite. “Fimda!” Nigel said one night, at a particularly well-attended social event. “Fimda?” some nearby socialite friends gasped. “Fimda,” Nigel replied, now shifting a little uncomfortably in his place, worried he had made some horrible mistake. Nigel is no longer a very popular socialite.

Callum embraced Alice, and at once he knew something was wrong. There was a knife in his fucking chest and after a moment’s contemplation Callum understood he was going to die. It felt at once frightening and comforting, like a Ferris wheel. Is my refrigerator running? I didn’t say banana.