A antipode with a shimmering potholed complexion imprisons frantic droplets of escapee sweat beads within his multitude of facial scars, swarms of them euthanized in one swipe as he licks clean his teeming philtrum.
His pendulous breasts oscillate wildly as he makes the short walk from elevator to desk, make to look extensive and arduous by his ungainly gait. During the journey his photochromic bifocals gradually fade from a paedophilic dark tint to a wholesome clear view, a metaphor perhaps for a dark act concealed.
Mothers clash with riot police in Trafalgar Square over the hose pipe ban in the South East,(misread as pan pipe ban – angry Peruvians at Lancaster Gate tube)
44 injured, 9 dead. A man is found hanged after retiring to bed and discovering that the combination of an open window and a naked bulb had attracted an unnerving habitation of moths into his bedroom. The horrific images caused the man to develop a depression and sleep induced psychosis that experts compare to those of a Vietnam war veteran.
7 year old chewing gum sticking soles. A lady burns the back of her bare legs on a leather passenger seat. A pensioner reeks on a crowded bus and insists on wearing a deeply stained winter coat, wishing for an end to their own personal Indian summer.
Wistfully staring out of the office window at the brightened outdoors, waiting impatiently to dive into its glow. Only to agonisingly miss its prime. Chasing its high as it fades away from sight leaving only shadows like an erotic dream that never reaches climax.
The sun is out and so is the pink wobbly flesh that wobbles in a wave like fashion.
Not saying anything, he’s just making a clicking noise.
It’s the English way. Donkey rides. Sand in sandwiches. Ice cream rivers dripping down hands, pooling at the wrists. Japanese tourist send postcards home smelling of vanilla.