Home > A reply to "Breaking Glass" by David Bowie (writing, 2009)


What the hell!? I wish I could have some idea as to why you've been doing the things you've been doing. Firstly, the broken glass in my room. I came home quite late after a lovely night out with Donna, I opened the door quietly, took my shoes off when I walked past your room so as not to wake you, and when I walked across my room to switch on the bedside lamp, I stood on broken glass. My foot was dripping blood all over and I've got a hole in my best socks. I used up about half a loo roll until it stopped bleeding. Mark told me this morning that he heard you breaking glass in there. C'mon, man, this is the third time this term. I don't understand. As if that wasn't enough, well, I don't think I need to point out what else was on my carpet. Why did you draw something so awful on it? That's not the sort of thing I wanted to come home to, I can tell you. I thought we were friends... but recently, it seems like you don't wanna talk to me any more. It's really confusing. I'm seriously thinking about moving out. I don't wanna have to tell the landlord what you've done, but if this continues, you'll give me no choice.

Your friend(?),

PS. Can I have my copy of "Blonde on Blonde" back, please? You've had it since Freshers' week, and I need to tape it for Donna.