The Bleeding Milkman'The bleedin’ milkman’, Nan says when I ask who my dad is. ‘Yer Mam ran off with him'. I’ve seen the milkman and he doesn’t look much like me. He’s got ginger hair and wears white gloves like Mickey Mouse. Never seen any blood either, so I’m not sure she’s right. I run away with him anyway looking for my mum, hopping onto his cart while it’s still dark, legs swinging as we chink and rattle round the streets. I get off at the top of the estate. In the pink light of the rising sun the milk looks like it’s bleeding. I’ve drunk a pint of full fat bleeding milk and I feel sick. I ask him where my mum is and he swears at me. I kick him in the leg and it bleeds through his white trousers. The relationship has soured.
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