Piccalilli Painless
I tried to kill myself.
Tried and failed, obviously, else I wouldn't be here to talk about it
but it wasn't through somebody having a feeling and checking up on
me, or a friend interrupting me when I was about to step off the
chair with a rope around my neck or a random stranger yanking me from
the edge of the platform as the 12:32 Portsmouth Express thunders
past. What saved me – though I'm not certain 'saved' is the
operative word here – was a red-horned demon with a cheese and
piccalilli sandwich.
His name was Kevin.
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