[Contentless] ITT you post right now [ASAP] your current thought.[Brains] [Thinking] [Personal] [#5] (999)

88 Name: ( ˃ ヮ˂) : 1993-09-6713 03:25

Pulling the ice axe from my leg, I staggered on, spindrift stinging my remaining eye. I finally managed to reach the station, only to find that the bus replacement service had broken down. After wondering to myself whether or not it should actually be called a "train replacement service", I walked out onto the concourse and noticed the giant screen seemed to have been tampered with - probably by a junior employee. Disgruntled commuters were being regaled with some dismal TVM, involving a tug-of-love-custody-battle (Stockard Channing held sway). Down in the High Street somebody careered out of Boots without due care or attention. I suggest that they learn some pedestrian etiquette, i.e. sidle out of the store gingerly, embrace the margin. Fat kids with sausage rolls, Poor sods conducting polls...
Therefs a man with a mullet going mad with a mallet in Millets.

I try to put everything into perspective; set it against the scale of human suffering, and I thought of the Mugabe government, and the children of the Calcutta railways. This works for a while, but then I encounter Primark FM. Overhead a rainbow appears. In black and white.

I got a letter from Stringy Bob: gStill on suicide watch. Screws not happy. Spotted a Marsh Fritillary during association. Was roundly ignored. What news you?h I felt sorry for him. Hefd only been locked up for public nuisance offences, one of which saw him beachcombing the Dee Estuary; found a dead wading bird, took it home, parcelled it up, and sent it off to that rubber-faced irritant Phil Cool, with a note inside which read: gIs this your Sanderling?h

Another time saw him answering an advert in the music press: gKeyboard player required: Doors, Floyd, etc. Must be committed, no time wastersh. You can guess the rest.

Ifd always imagined he would simply wander off some day into the hills, to be found months later, his carcass stripped by homeless dogs, his exposed skull a perch for the quartering crow. I folded away the letter and put it in my inside pocket. All of a sudden I felt brushed by the wings of something dark.

May the Lord have mercy on Stringy Bob.

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