I’m just back from my writer’s night in King Street, Bristol where the novelists meet.
Before the meeting I went into the spar shop to get some cash for the meter.
Behind me a man said. I’m not gay you know, staring at the girl behind the till.
‘No, I’m paranoid.’ He said, ‘I take tablets.’
He paid for his apple.
‘I’m sorry I’m paranoid,’ he said, It’s because of a girl. She broke my heart.