When you reach the canned pears for dessert phase of
your life, you pretty much retire from giving a fuck. Admittedly I didn’t have old lady slippers
on, and I certainly wasn’t sporting a bally argyle cardigan that was badly
buttoned over saggy tits. But I did have
a penchant for preserved fruits, which I indulged this evening, and this is the
very point I now believe my life started its downward trajectory.
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