Connor has a hole in his heart.
It hasn’t stopped him turning into a choo-choo train of a man; arms like pistons; steam whistling from the holes in his head.
I asked him about it once.
“Oh that, I forgot about that.”
It’s a wonder he’s not dead.
We all have holes in our heart.
Insides of doughnuts.
When you feel the cold hard sheen of the slab, the forensics will show how you spent your entire life trying to fill the pinpricks, doughnuts and craters while spinning plates belonging to hairdressers, office cubicle workers and waiters.
The bullet went clean through.
Try filling that thing with alcohol, and you will be there until your face turns blue.
Don’t be like Connor.
Don’t forget the hole in your heart.
Learn to live with it.
There’s a long way to go before the dead tone sings.
Let’s see what life brings.