A cut passage (a murdered darling) from my manuscript:
I put my palm on the trepanned head of a plastic guide dog to steady myself. As I regarded its coin slot, it seemed to sing that I should pop my door key inside it.
It had to go because it required too much explanation. Not everyone, especially overseas, knows what these guide dogs are, and to explain it would kill it.
I’m also not sure how recognisable these mad thoughts are to
normies the hinged.