“Buttered Scones” By Gareth Culshaw

She had the look of a Playmobil in her features,walked with hot-coal feet, smiled as if sheknew the world was going to end tomorrow. At break she smoked by the doorway, puffedthe ink out of a Biro, made paper aeroplanesfrom her wages and threw them onto the street. She tied her hair in a bobble, …

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