i died that evening

Dislocated shoulders by a bilateral agreement made on a motorway somewhere south of York. My legs smelt terrible and when I last checked there were four boiled eggs in the box and a tiny bit of salt. I made a sandwich then, of course, and set sail for the south seas. It was there that I met Donald for the first time and I thought then, as I do today, that he was a fucking asshole and that there shouldn't be room on this planet for scum like that. I insulted him before he could say hello and walked away in a show of Fiji shoemaker pride. My great uncle had a parrot which he had bought (or should I say stolen, for he was a thief) from a shoemaker in Fiji. Rare things, Fiji shoemakers. The only other one I've heard of is stuffed in a museum in New York. We were south of York though, old and regular York. I had ham on my sandwich, along with the egg, and it made me sick and I died that evening.