Car Park

The car park.

You haven’t even got a car. How do you manage, without a car? I suppose you have philosophical objections to cars. And business. And general prosperity.

It’s just resentment, anyway.

Why? I can’t even drive.

Exactly – that’s part of it. You won’t equip yourself for a normal life. Like normal people. You think you’re special. Which just means that you’re especially incompetent. Don’t deign to function in the world. To be normal. To act like a responsible grow up.

Is that what you are, a responsible grown up?

You don’t even have a smartphone, do you?

It’s resistance.

What a joke.

You can’t use cash in this carpark. You have to have the app.

You let me pick you up, didn’t you? You didn’t walk here. You’re content to be otherworldly. Looked after. You think you’re always going to be looked after. You’re dependent, right. Not much of a turn on, is it?

A big car makes me feel all girly and looked after.

Really?

What if – what if that? Your parents should have taken care of you better. Prepared you.

I’ve done okay, haven’t I?

Anyway, I’m skint.

Skint … You’ll never be a good provider, will you?

You’re so quiet today. When you should be apologising.

Apologising for what?

For it being so cold. For bring me out here.

It was your idea.

It was yours. Let’s go for a walk, you said. Let’s get some air, you said. Let’s fill our lungs. And now we’re dying of exposure. Well, I am.


Aren’t you scared someone will recognise you out here? Expose our torrid affair? Our affairlete, anyway.

I want it exposed. I want the world to know. I don’t care. Anyway, who’d be out on a day like this?