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“ I’m a spy, in the house of love.” He walked across the road, smiling broadly, confident in his art and reperfecting it every moment. He fidgets through his pockets and takes out his little notebook. That notebook, the one with everything, and you are on it.

‘I know your name, and I have your number,’ he said maintaining that sheen on his face, ‘I know what you did l ast night and it is a dirty little secret. Make sure you don’t let the others know of it. Yea h, them – for they judge you man. They will assess. They too have me amidst all their mess,’

‘Hey you, don’t even exist. Where did this ghost come from and how did he persist?’ I remarked from the edge of the hill, climbing on it to have my fill – of the air, the sun, the land and the rest, forgetting about him as a test. He was still there wondering what was going on, I was inquisitive and he was staggering along.

The speed did not help him win and he simply gave in. ‘What is this man, this joke you play; laughing away every stupid day. Take this shit seriously and I will show you, that it is best to turn blue.’ So with these small words the blackmail did end,

walking into someone else wishing to pretend.

And it hurts, so he came back. ‘Cometo daddy, I’ll give you some slack.’ It is a lie, and you re-track, falling again into the silly hack.


The Blackmail