My stomach was starting to appear at about the point where his disappeared, so I bundled him up and threw him into the garbage bag with all the other rags for whichever goodwill organisation had their bin out.
Knowing that I'd regret that reluctant decision on the walk, I packed him at the very centre. And then,
beside the bin at the corner of Skt Gertrud's and Drottningtorget I unpacked everything because I
couldn't go through with it. He was too precious. After all, it was Hari who could stop people in mid stride on a busy day at Camden markets and have them laugh out loud. I did treasure him.
His colour was fading like the moustache drooping from his upper lip. Finally, I wrapped him back up with all the other glad rags and threw him in the bin. At this point the heavens opened and I spat my fury to an unjust god. I mean, unlike friendship, t-shirts don't last forever.
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