14/08/2022
A pile of human shit lay sprawled next to the gates of the surf club toilets. Almost. The flies had a field day.
A pile of human shit lay sprawled next to the gates of the surf club toilets. Almost. The flies had a field day.
Thinking it might have been a nice metaphor for rebuilding his mental health, John purchased some IKEA furniture to construct, bit by bit. Thirty minutes in he booked an emergency therapy session.
Like a vampire exposed to sunlight, the ageing librarian hissed and fled the room when any electronic screens were thrust in her face.
For the pan that required deglazing with wine, where there was none, Beth glanced at the dispenser of hand-sanitiser and briefly considered it.
For the most important meal of the day, Jacko had a durry and a double-espresso.
The bananas, bought with best intentions, went from the colour of a sun to the impossible darkness of a black hole in the space of a warm week.
The punk band injected fire through the ears and into the throbbing veins of the two mega-fans, the only people at the gig.
Jake had finally discovered that poorly-kept secret — that a pedicure/manicure after a laborious stretch of shopping was perhaps the greatest thing in the world.
It was her secret pleasure, the way Maria abused the heat lamp in the bathroom after a steaming hot shower.
The delivery driver forged his way through the night, peddling laboriously, and was about to arrive at his destination when they cancelled the order on him.