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By Ella Hickson
Joey:
You know what, Sam? I think its a bit fucked up, a nineteen-year-old boy spending all his time with a
sixty-year-old man. Watching all your old movies, shuffling around making Dad his bucks fizz and his
tea just the way he likes it, letting him shout at you and order you about and do you like it,
secretly? Knowing someones boss, all wise and knowing; feeling like someone has all the answers?
Yes sir, no sir! Because I cant shake the feeling Sam, that you, you and all your smiling and your
starry-eyed fucking I just walked up fifth avenue and its all big and shiny and the cars are huge
and the buildings all stretching themselves up into the stars and lights on Broadway all shouting
there success into the night like everyone is just bound to be a big success! And then you go and sit
in a caf and all the waitresses are failed actresses and failed singers and on the subway there are a
billion adverts for pissy little classes and you just know those waitresses are going to be serving
coffee for the rest of their fucking lives! I just cant help but feel, Sam all that dreaming it
suddenly feels like the most stupid fucking idea you ever had and all those stars and buildings, all
those chandeliers and even the kisses; it all feels like lies.