RETURN The back gate is unlocked. The chain screen is reintroduced. The lights stutter and glare. The switch that says IF THIS IS OFF THEN WE ARE ALL FUCKED is flicked back on. The stoves are fired up. The fryers are filled. The steel-toed boots are unearthed. The laundry is found, unwashed. The accounts are reopened with the suppliers. The mats are laid out. The deliveries are put away. The fridge is restocked. The bins are lined with new bags. The fans whir. The hi-fi is resurrected. The knives are sharpened. The fox is brought back from its Siberian exile. The kitchen returns to life. Lovely bit of bream. You’re holding it the wrong way. They should put you on TV, middle of the night, for people who can’t get to sleep. They could just watch you chopping that carrot. Have they unlocked the doors out there? Took home a dyslexic bird last night. Got my sock cooked.
