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Jenn AshworthTWISTED We were having an appraisal, an evaluation: an excuse for some writerly mutual masturbation. I was embarrassed, didn’t mind. Philip Leeke said my novel was filled with "some real twisted shit". Or maybe it was freaky. Anyway. I took it as a compliment.The session ended, thank God. I don’t remember leaving, walking out, but then Phil and me and Morag were sitting in the pub talking about S&M. He said you could make money dressing up businessmen in nappies and giving them bottles. I was a little bit drunk but trying not to seem it and all I could think about was the fact I was still lactating. I can’t remember whether I mentioned it or not. It seems like the sort of thing I would blurt out in an effort to be witty after Guinness and then regret. We laughed a lot. I think we were talking about how to fund a Ph.D. ...still wondering whether I had said it, or just thought it... I stayed in the pub a little later than I should have done and then had to rush to Oxford Road to get the train. The shoes I was wearing were really hurting my feet and on the way into the station a man asked me if I had a light. I did, and said so.People should be wary of stopping to talk to strangers. Especially at night-time. Especially when tipsy. Especially blond girls in red riding coats with shoes not designed for a quick getaway. (I should probably mention here, for the sake of veracity, that I am not really blond (bleached, Boots, £5.99 a box), and the man, (as I will go on to mention below) was not, as far as I can remember, wearing red shoes – this was something I chose to add in later). "Do you have a cigarette?" I asked him. No, I didn’t. It was something more like, "Can I crash a fag?" Confident after masturbation and Guinness, laughing and feeling like I’d been witty. Wouldn’t normally chat on the street, not in Manchester. Not anywhere. Wouldn’t normally chat at all, which is why I drink too much. So we swapped and bent our wrists around each other like newlyweds sipping from champagne flutes. Twisted them, you might say. He was a bit older than me and he had curly hair and I suppose I must have fancied him a bit because I stopped even though I was in a rush and I can remember it very clearly even now. Some shiny white tee-shirt with writing on and red shoes. Or I may have just wanted a cigarette a lot – which I did. I always smoke on the way home from University and then brush my teeth before my mum drops off my daughter and I am twenty-four in three months. And he or I and I genuinely can’t remember which, said, "a match made in heaven". And we laughed and I got my lighter back and went into the station thinking about matches and nappy-clad business men and Guinness. Still wondering about the lactating comment, whether I had said it, or just thought it. I will go on to read this aloud to my classmates, and Philip Leeke will pretend to be offended and Morag will blush. The boy who was there who I didn’t mention might wonder why he didn’t feature in the account, and no-one will tell me if I said anything about lactating or not. No-one will tell me, and despite drafting, I cannot remember. I slipped in the damn shoes getting onto the train and twisted my ankle. No, I didn’t. It just made a neat ending. Jenn Ashworth is about to begin a thesis on the Unreliable Narrator and has just completed a novel. She writes autobiographically, unreliably, and daily. She is a single mother and a cat-owner. Photographer Gustavo Medde, a.k.a. Morgacito, is Art Director for an advertising agency in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He is 21. 8:21 PM - 12/6/2006 - post comment
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