Waking for work at five past four in the morning, I cursed my luck and jumped out of bed before having the chance to close my eyes and fall back asleep. It’s always so tempting because I want nothing more than to sleep. I was doing so well before I was born. Getting dressed and cleaning up after the dogs for one of the last times, I prepared to venture outside at twenty minutes past. Putting my jacket on in the hallway, I grabbed hold of the portable radiator wrapped in a black plastic bag by the front door and held it firmly against my chest. I couldn’t fit it in the bin, so I decided to dump it outside a corner shop on my way into town. Naughty of me, I know, but fuck it. I pay my taxes. I’m not sure that’s much of an excuse, but it’s one I’m sticking with. Stumbling downhill with a light rain in my face, the rattle of the radiator sounded like cries of protest, and the faster I walked, the louder it wailed. Finally, when I got to the planned dumping spot, a car with its lights on pulled up beside me on the kerb, forcing me to walk further afield. Within a few minutes though, I spied a dimly lit stretch of pavement and unceremoniously plonked the radiator against a fence trying my best not to look suspicious. The radiator has been in my possession since late 2014 and lasted several relationships and the spaces between when a pair of loving arms was out of reach. It may only have been an inanimate object, but I genuinely felt sad ditching it. It was like betrayal. On my journey back some nine hours later, it was exactly as I left it, and for one brief moment, I wanted to pick it up and take it back so that things could be how they once were, only I walked on regardless.