HARDLUCK PIE

I was meeting Mal outside London Zoo, I had
phoned him and told him everything. For that,
he said, he'd close his shop as he was just waiting
to hear the juicy details.
"It's alright for you!" I scoffed:"You haven't been
finger fucked by a cadaver!"
"It sounds disgustin' did he have old men's scraggy
balls? Did his arse hang down?" Mal was obvious
enjoying my demise. He was getting quite shrill and
squeaky.
"You shut up! Bring something for us to eat and
some fags." I hadn't eaten for a few days and my teeth
were tinged with nicotine.
"Yeah, ok, I'll bring some hardluck pie!"
"Hardluck pie? What's that when it's at home?"
Was he trying to take the piss here?
"Ahh you will see, be right up your street! You
can bring something to drink, oh and change your
knickers you dirty bitch!" He laughed at his own
humour.
"I wouldn't laugh very much if I had hair like you."
I said quietly.
Mal bit it. Had to the vain git.
"What's wrong with my hair?" He said irately.
"Not much, just colour, texture, length, smell,
everything really!" I giggled.
"Fuck you!" The phone was slammed down,
in my mind's eye he was already looking in the
mirror. Sod him. He once told me that he thought
his hair looked like a young Robert Plant's. Big
mistake, the teasing was relentless and I sang
Whole lotta love about 50 thousand times
and I still think it's pretty funny!
Still haven't been shopping, gasp of horror, I
think I might have to borrow a pair of Ma's
knickers! Will shop on the way back from lunch,
Mal can advise me. What am I reduced to?
I wished Ma and Jasper would just fuck off. I used to
be happy once in this little flat. It was mine
and I loved it. Waiting for my pie.
Becka M