Cold Comfort

It’s gone way past midnight and local goddess-mistress Ms Arabella Madam is enjoying some warming comfort food as she is sat above me on the stocks. Her presence is of cold comfort to me, however, as, shivering in my wooden window, I am obliged to not only smell her food, but also listen to her as she slaps noisily on her burger, slurps on her drink, and occasionally belches into the freezing cold air high above me. Indeed, just about the only comforting thing for me is the nearby presence of her white sock next to my face, as I can count the stitches in it whilst she eats.













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