Last night

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Thick Eastern Block accent hard to understand. My hand on his knee.

Calm down baby. Calm down.

The tyres squealed as he turned another corner west. I knew where we where going.

I've got a hammer and a knife. He said. And I'm goNNA TEACH THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS a lezzon.

He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. I held on to my seat belt. We pulled up outside the council flats with the patchy, dying cat sprawled cancerously on the doorstep. The cat looked up. Depressingly, it recognized me.

Bedder vait here babe. his voice was flat.

He slammed the car, darkly heading up the concrete stairs. Heavy footsteps echoing into the night. I jumped over the mid-console, ciggy ready to be ashed. I was worried I was going to see a lot of blood. I knew who lived in that apartment, I knew they were all as crazy as each other. Once in the driver's seat, I slammed the car into reverse and repositioned. We were going to have to leave there fast.

The day before, I had broken up with the orange haired boy. By telephone. He made it through his 3 day coma. He somehow lived. Surprised the experts. That is all another story. I broke up with him because he told my little old granny (who used to think I was special) that I had a needle problem. Why? Supposedly he was worried because I wasn't calling him every day.

Within 12 hours I had found myself a new boyfriend. Just as obsessive, just as crazy, different hair colour. 6ft 6, a hammer in one hand a blade glinting in the other, he strode calmly out of the apartment less than 3 minutes after entering.

He was laughing. I got them all, he said to me.

Fucking narks.