There are words on the fridge, They’re magnetic. “I liver you, with all my lungs.” “January breaks 50% off…’‘ There are pictures of cats, newspaper cuttings with words and letters blacked out. “I stomach you, I do, but I don’t brain you. Lets skin. And glove your holes”. “Sweet, sharp, sophisticated and full…” No melon, no lemon, the fridge door has lost its suction, the light stays on. (Pictured above, dancing). There is inside, next to the peppered cheese, a gaudy matrioshka. (Despot daughter a mini-dictator). There is on her face a black moustache; it might as easily be snot, or a spot.