When you look out upon the channel, don’t you find that a funny feeling comes upon you?

I left him there, chewing at the shoulder of his shirt.

Rain was fizzing into my eyes, their eyes, the poor, little dogs eyes. The tramp glued to the bench, the one surrounded dirty feathers, didn’t know anything about the rain.  He nodded at me as I walked past; hot sweating and worried about nothing.

They were all getting rained upon down at the fairground. He wondered what he thought about this, until deciding that he really didn’t think much about it at all. He had decided nothing. And yet, how was it that the world seemed to go on? Important decisions were made, treatises signed, embargos placed; so why was it that he couldn’t find his keys? And what difference wouldnt have made had he never found them again?

A gull screeched above him. The sound that holidaymakers love. Reminds them that they are no longer in the city. The gull screamed again and it reminded him of how far away he was from everything. Good.

The dark alleys of mystery. He remembered being asked whether he might like a blowjob and if he did could he make his decision a quick one; it was, just, that her pimp was looking and needed to see that she was making the effort. And he felt bad for turning her down.

He was the lowest form of scum and he watched her disintegrate. He was nothing and she was nothing and, above us all, the stars wink their sarcastic eyes at our drudgery.

Now piss off.


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