A group of young girls sit at the table, giggling and laughing to themselves. They cluster around one girl in particular – the Birthday Girl.
I stumble out of the door, keys still in hand, my bag bashing against my ribs, as I half run, half walk to the bus stop. I’m
I sit in the waiting room anxiously, scuffing my toes on the linoleum floor. I am the only one waiting, my mother sits beside me,
Her mane is bedraggled, it is in a sorry state. The last hairdresser in control, had left it too late. It troubles her greatly the