I like burning the tip of my tongue on a cup of tea, me. It reminds what it’s like to have a tongue. I don’t take milk, and I don’t take sugar. If I wanted milk or sugar, I would have just asked for some milk with some sugar in it. Today is Tuesday, which is good because this is the day the post comes. When the post comes, I’ll greet the postman with a cheery “Hello!” which I am sure he’ll like because it can be lonely round these parts. I’ll invite him in for a biscuit and a hot drink. He’ll say “Oh no thanks, better be gettin’ on”. I’ll insist, he’ll concede “Go on then, just a quick’un”. I’ll bring him in, set him down, pack of custard creams, get his memory going, remind him of her, he will’ve clocked it by now. “Don’t see many o’—” bring in the teapot, glass bottle to the back of the head, he’ll like that, remind him of what it’s like to be alive.

“Milk and hyenas.” She handed me the shopping list.

“Milk and hyenas?” I quizzed.

“Milk, and hyenas.” she insisted.

“Milk… hyenas?” I questioned again. Cautiously, I tried to gather a little more information. “Semi skimmed or full fat?”

“Semi skimmed.” she replied.

“Ah.” I nodded. I didn’t mean it.

“Wait—” she paused, pondered for a while, finger on teeth, eyes to her mind. “Semi skimmed milk. Full fat hyenas.” She prodded her fingers into her cheeks.

“Ah.” I nodded. I didn’t mean it.