From a quiet Monday morning comes a rush of sensation. Blame the sugar man.

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Sugar man,
do you need a minute?
If you do, I can wait.
Take five if you need.
I can wait.

Sugar man,
can I grab your coat?
It’s not too far—I don’t mind at all.
I’ll get it.

Sugar man,
you’ve got to be hungry.
I’ll rustle up some munch.
I could eat too.
I could eat more than you.

Sugar man,
it’s too dark for you to walk.
I’ll drive you.
We can talk on the way.

Sugar man,
I’ve done all my daily jobs.
Cleaned from bottom to top.
You could eat your dinner off my floor.

Sugar man,
there’s a pain in my forehead.
It gets worse when I bend over.
I don’t want the paracetamol.
Pills are too hard to get down.

Sugar man.
White or Brown?
You’d probably say Red.
Go on, say it.
Say Red.

Sugar man,
I’m heading out onto the dance floor.
I love this song.
What songs do you love?

Sugar man,
I’m scratching my head.
Could scratch yours too?

Sugar man.
Once upon a time you were.
I’m not walking through the woods to meet you.

Peter is a writer and student currently living in Canterbury, Kent. He has a small bedroom and a landlord that is actually quite a nice guy.

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