"She's looking at me."
My brother noted, and indeed Drunk Donna was fixed in our direction. She's sat there every day, on the same bench at 6pm. Always there to greet us on our way home. "You must be her type." I snicker but she's looking at me now. There's glasses in the way of her eyes but I can tell she's been crying, well she usually is at this point. Sometimes she sits there and quietly sobs, sometimes the tears come with angry mutterings. She looks as smart as ever, her suit pristine, trainers on her feet and some sort of bottle in hand. It's usually wine but today it's a four pack of larger. Her brown hair is tied back but her fringe is a mess across her face. "Nah, Craig said she's a lezzer. She's after you." "Yeah? Well mum said she's got a husband."
"Mum also says he beats her so the gay card isn't off the table." She can almost definitely hear us. She watches us walk by with a fixed glare, maybe at the comments but more likely our existence. She doesn't like kids, Drunk Donna, she's chased off many of us and shouted at more. But she'll still sit here on our street every night. She must leave around 7 because Dad never sees her, to this awful husband I guess. But she doesn't look like a crazy drunk person. If you walked past her on the street you'd think she's fine! We saw her in town once and Sam was sure she wasn't really Drunk Donna. "Oi Donna! We're too young for you!" Sam shouts and I can't help but laugh. "Fuck off." She grumbles and opens a new can.
We walk away laughing and I think I hear her cry again.
