The Question

The Question

  “D’you ever worry you’ll have it?” I hesitated. This was something I hadn’t considered until now. “Not really.” I answered blithely. I was fourteen and had just delivered a class presentation on my father’s Manic Depression. ⫷⦁⫸ A few weeks earlier my mother sat me...
“D’ya like dags?”

“D’ya like dags?”

  Dressing, I glimpse through the window at a parka-bundled figure across the road, gender imperceptible, clasping the lead of a large cream-coloured dog – some kind of poodle perhaps, guessing at the curly coat. As he trotted nose-to-ground between snowbanks I saw...
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