42

It 's 4 a.m. The street lights wink out.

  • It 's 4 a.m. The street lights wink out. Dim lantern-headed ghosts with grotesque sillouhettes shrilly pipe their piccolos. A cohort of drumming fools marches up the narrow alley.

    4
  • The ratt-tat-tat-tat of drum stick against drum top filled the polluted air, the stomping of the stumpy boots splashing through the puddles. They were noisy, and also, bored.

    4
  • It was Glastonbury Festival in the rain. We were all pretending we were having a great time. I dreamt of my bed. My deep, deep bed and fluffy duvet with crisp clean linen and sweet

    5
  • chocolates are hand-fed to me as my lover gives me a back rub. Not here in this wretched field waiting 10 hours to hear live music, while my wellies once again get stuck in the mud

    5
  • of reality even more than in my psycho day-job. Clouds congealed over the Plain and thunder struck. Some were fried; others screamed. "Rise like lions" boomed the sky. "Not my gig"

    4
  • said the voice of the friendly skies. But in my psycho day-job I took not notice of those things. I worked at the Bates motel. My day job was to clean the rooms. It wasn't easy

    4
  • Because United Airlines flight attendants had sneezed to death from new uniforms. They had to let them wear sweat pants while they ordered new ones. It took six months! Passengers

    3
  • became so disgusted by such low class attire that they refused to board the planes. They decided to stage a sleep in at the airport since they were already in pajamas anyway.

    5
  • The airport officials tried to get them to stop, but with little success. The earliest passengers were smart enough to pick spots near the power sockets.The rest, however,

    4
  • built a little campfire in their humble corner and warmed their hands as they waited for everyone else to board. It was a rough ride for them, but in the end they had Jamaica.

    4

0 Comments

Want to leave a comment?

Sign up!