"Hello Fuckpig"

“Hello Fuckpig,” I said. There was a slight gasp and a long silence from the other end. “You are a Fuckpig aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” came the hesitant reply.

“I liked your pictures,” I said.

“I can’t talk now. Meet me tomorrow at 6pm in Graham’s bar on Derby Avenue.” She was speaking quietly.

“Okay,” I said as she put the phone down. I got the impression that the first voice I had heard may have been Fuckpig’s mother. I looked at the pictures she had sent again. She looked young possibly no older than eighteen.