Read Online Death By Carbs by Paige Nick - Free Book Online Page B

I’ve lost over 20 kilos since I started, I’m pleased to say.
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    Lydia Steenberg Wow, that’s fantastic! Well done you! But how come you haven’t posted about it on the page? I’m sure I would have seen and congratulated you if you had.
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    Benjamin Di Rosi I guess I’m kind of shy. I prefer to watch and be inspired by everyone on the page, like youAkdfjlakifhfhfhf fkjfkfj kjfa kdajf akdjf alfdka f
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    I’m SO sorry, that wasn’t me. My crazy cat just walked right across my keyboard!
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    Lydia Steenberg Ha ha ha I wondered what happened there. I have a cat too, Ginger Mary. No surprises, she’s a ginger. What’s your cat’s name?
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    Benjamin Di Rosi Yes I’ve seen pictures of your Ginger Mary on your profile on Facebook (I also wasn’t stalking you, I swear!) Those before and after pics were hilarious!! My cat’s name is Silas. He loves my keyboard. He especially likes walking across it when I’m working or typing, and sometimes, mostly when I’m working on something especially important, he likes to lie across it, as if he owns it. It’s his party trick, to get my attention. I’d better go and feed him before he finds something else to destroy. But I’m looking forward to chatting to you again if you’re keen?
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    Lydia Steenberg Sometimes I think we’re our cat’s pets, instead of the other way around.
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    Benjamin Di Rosi So true ☺ Chat soon.
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    Lydia Steenberg Bye, Benjamin. Bye, Silas.
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THE EX-PUBLISHER
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    Wednesday 11:03am
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    â€˜You okay?’
    The man in Frank’s peripheral vision seemed chatty, and Frank wasn’t in the mood for chatty, so he ignored him. He didn’t come to this bar to be sociable – he came to drink and to forget. Well, to drink to forget.
    â€˜Hey buddy,’ the man said again, a little louder.
    Frank went on pretending he hadn’t heard him.
    â€˜Hey man, you know your hand’s bleeding all over the bar, right?’
The guy shifted from his barstool to the barstool beside Frank’s.
    â€˜It’s nothing,’ Frank murmured, not making eye-contact in an effort to make it clear that he wasn’t in the mood for small talk with an annoyingly hairy stranger who smelled like pickled onions.
    â€˜It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you’ve been in a hell of a fight. I’d hate to see what the other guy looks like,’ said the man
cheerily. ‘So, what happened to you?’
    At last Frank swivelled in his seat to face the man. ‘You know when you’re involved in something really big that happens, and you think it’s going to change your life completely, but it doesn’t, and your life stays just as shit as it was before that big thing happened? But the problem is that you were counting on that big thing to change your life and make it better, but in reality, nothing changes, in fact that big thing just ends up exacerbating the problem and making everything worse.’
    â€˜Er, I think so.’
    â€˜Well, that,’ said Frank, swivelling back to face the bar.
    â€˜So what did you do to your hand?’ the man persisted.
    â€˜You ask a lot of questions for a stranger in a bar,’ Frank spat. ‘What are you, the FB-fucking-I?’
    â€˜Sorreeee! Excuse me for living,’ the man said. ‘But your hand’s bleeding all over the bar and there’s not much else going on around here, so it made me curious. No offence,’ he added, waving at the barman. ‘Want another?’ he asked Frank.
    Frank nodded. Who was he to turn down a free drink? In fact, who was he to turn down a free anything?
    â€˜I punched something,’ Frank said, by way of payment for his drink, which was being poured by an uninterested barman. Daytime barmen were always uninterested. They’d either seen too much, or they’d seen it all.
    â€˜Is the thing you