Angela. Staff
Trainee
She browses the
knick-knacks,
examines the mismatched
saucers
for pottery marks of
the worthy
and worthful
watched by the
overweight lady on the till
curling her Poppy Red
Number Five
through her fingertips,
lips smacking on the
Juicyfruit
the manageress has
already told her off for.
Not that she cares.
She wouldn't know a
Meisen from a St Michael
but damages must be
paid for
and she had her eye on
that World's Best Dad mug
as a conversation
starter
about this morning's
failed pregnancy test.
Was a positive reading
failure?
She doesn't know any
more,
not since Planned
Parenthood
stopped giving out free
condoms
and the women in her
social circle
started dying of HIV
and back street abortions.
Still, Mrs Brinklow
means well
and she's cheaper than
the private hospital
who'll do a
hysterectomy with complications
for three and a half
grand.
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