Jim’s a good friend, always has been, but I know when I am no longer welcome. I’ve been crashing on his couch for about three weeks now, probably longer. Ever since Dad threw me out.
Don’t get me wrong, Jim hasn’t complained, has made nothing of it. But this morning I heard him arguing with his girlfriend, she’s had enough. I don’t blame her.
So I’m off. I left a note on the ‘fridge thanking them for everything. Assuring them that I’ll be fine.
Just have to figure out where to go next.
I don’t want to go home, not yet. I still have bruises from my last encounter with Dad.
I’ll make a few calls, see if I can find anyone who’ll take pity on me.
If the worst comes to the worst, a night or two by the railway station won’t kill me. I’ve done it before. God knows, it’s probably where I’ll end up eventually.
The weather has started to turn cold but I have my sleeping bag with me.
And I’ve just enough for a naggin of vodka to keep the worst of the chill away.