I booted that wee 50s beatnik man in the balls.
I feel awful about it.
I did it when he was locking his car after taking the groceries off the back seat.
I booted him hard up the hole from behind, stamping his balls against the car door as I lifted my foot.
What kind of a cunt am I?
I ran away giggling, up the steps into our house. I looked back as I opened the door and he was leaning against the car, groaning. He saw me, like.
There was all crisps broken and spilled everywhere, around his feet. BBQ flavoured ones.
He must have just bought crisps. He had a reusable bag.
Why do I do these things?
He lives two doors up. He's always eating out on the porch with his family in the summer. They always drink wine, every day. He wears an apron.
And a beret.
I think that's why I did it.
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