Pandemic. Work, work, work, work, work. Red, swollen. Strange.
A kaleidoscope of luminous stars. Skin thickening. Suspicious. I’m listening to you allowing me to overhear. You let me know I have cancer. Enough for one day?
CT scan. There are two routes. A or B. Heads or tails. Life, maybe, or the other route. You’ll not explain the other route just yet. As you wish.
Some big aces in my hand. Or is it duces? No, it’s threes. Her too. Aggressive. Is she? Very.
Sideways perusal. You think I look robust enough. Here is the possibility of my life. Do I want to take it? You have to ask the question.
Be positive. It’s all about attitude. Yeh, right, OK. I’ll just wish it away then. If only.
’Reaching out’, as they say, to other inflammatory BC ‘survivors’. Not too many around.
Still, some people do really well. Trusting luck and not percentages already. Raised eyebrow emoji.
