It Must be Love

    Couldn't sleep very well last night. I was awake till around 4.30 in the morning. The foxes were roaming the estate for many hours, clambering into the rubbish skips for their dinner. Their eerie yelps and barks sounded like a woman being strangled, or stabbed, out there in the dark. And at 3.30 there was a domestic row between a husband and wife right in the middle of the concourse below my open window. He wanted her to come back inside their flat. She was having none of it, "Oh, fuck off back inside, you ANIMAL!" she screamed at him, "Oh yeah, yer a big tough man ain'tcha? Jus' fuck off and leave me alone. Didya fink I wouldn't know you went frew me purse, scroungin' for what yer could get? Fuck right off! You belong in a fuckin' PSYCHO ward, yer cunt!" I knelt at the window to watch them. She was hidden by the leaves of the big plane tree just below. He was drunkenly walking a wobbly figure eight on the tarmac with his head lowered against her onslaught. After a while of this he wandered off towards the safety of their flat. And then he doubled back and approached her again to ask if she had a cigarette. She handed him one and lit it for him.

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