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All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is accidental




TASTER


- Kit -


I've always been a bit of a sucker. All those sweets bought with a sweaty sixpence at a north Liverpool sweet shop. The Old English Spangles in their striped wrappers which I’d suck down to a thin transparent disc before crunching out of existence. Or a Mint Toffo, still with paper folds printed on its surface. Or a strip of liquorice covered in sherbet - can I yavva Shairbet Fountain, please? You went for the cheapo penny or ha’penny things. The gobstoppers and Arrow Bars and all those little things that were two or four a penny, like Shrimps or Black Jacks, though mostly you robbed or scrounged your way to the juicier stuff. Lend us a tanner, Kit Kat?

Here I am walking the same route as then, only now the pacy world of Safeways is my destination instead of Mr Shaughnessy’s dark and atmospheric sweet shop, now sadly defunct.

Later, after the sweets, there was the other taste. Like frogspawn, or how I imagined frogspawn tasted: something a bit dirty and slimy, fit only for the insides of jam jars or the bottoms of ponds. Excuse me if I gag but that’s harder to swallow, even for a sucker.

Or do I mean succour? The sort I offered Debbie when I saw how you left her. Succour. Suck her better. Lick her wounds. I've always liked playing with words, though I like it better when words play with me. Like the sentence floating past me, as if torn from a packet of sweets, flying loose. Some viewers may find aspects of this man's life disturbing. I grin with faint satisfaction, saving it on my mental disk for future use. (Kit Ramsay - pool1).

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