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Heart of darkness

In which The Mother is suspicious


The mother seemed a little concerned yesterday. “You’ve been wearing a lot of black clothes lately,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Are you a goth?”

I had to run away so I could burst out laughing. No, mother, I’m not a goth. There’s more to being a goth than wearing black trousers and a black t-shirt for a night out. “No,” I told her, “and besides, I know lots of goths who wear things that aren’t black.”

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