Perhaps I'm a schizoid thingie and you arejust a voice in my head. Maybe I could get some pills to make you goaway."I was silent at that."Well say som...thing!"I was still silent."Have you gone?" No." Well spit it out."I thought for a moment."It's all about you isn't it, what about me? I died today and then foundmyself in you. I didn't do it on purpose. God either has a funny senseof humour or maybe I did something wrong in a previous life. Anyway, wecan't cry over spilt milk. We have to carry on. Although there was no mirror across his cluttered living room to which he could refer, he knew he still cut a fine figure of a man. He might be stooped, his nails as tough as hell to cut, and his hair thinning, but he dressed well and he could still pull the women. Okay! They were women much the same age as him, smelling less sweet than he remembered Jenny’s teenage flesh (indeed sometimes smelling rather more like piss), but he was still a man who could give pleasure. Thank Christ for Viagra!. More

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