They walked and walked, at first along tiled and bleakly lit corridors under electric lighting, and then along dusty carpets in dark shuttered places, and up a stone staircase and then further up a winding wooden stair, cloudy with dark dust.2 With each step the landscape unfolded and named itself.3 It was grotesque.4 They were cold and wet, exhausted and bereft.5
It was a canine interdiction dictated by necessity, when pooches were stripped from cold Muscovite streets, locked into unsafe safety modules, and (depending on how the Scooby Snax landed) blasted into orbital or suborbital orbits.
Wainscoting’s all it is, the contrivance of a façade that confuses, by sheer tyranny of ignorance, the Lord’s blessings for civility.
Socks make for essential packing when visiting château Point Prideaux.
Another day another data breach, and on goes through the wallet to swap out the credit cards while they wait on for replacements. Cash-only is the chaser, and the primary reason to keep up the breaches.
Sunset snaps on synapses via optic nerves nervous already about degenerated maculae. Light sloughs at the interior posterior dulling keen vision – keen in the British sense, mind: of enthusiasm, eagerness.
Smearing across the brow, trickling down the side of the face, not melted chocolate, but the expanse of blood out from the skin underneath. Another Easter road toll, and this bell gongs for 10 to the nation and make their way off the course and into the sidelines forevermore.
Ready at the teller, the bank salivates at the thought of a stolen cache of debit card data. There one day, gone the next, funds from your bank account. Maybe $50. Maybe $100. But enough to draw you closer to the zero balance. And they wait.
Again, before the due date arrives, the library shelves stock books no one will read and that will pass lonely, more under the dust, at the annual (but not annual enough) book sale. It is a purge more than anything, and the smell of fresh pages butting against the mould is only enough.
All Christmas is, the one with the Santa Claus dropping mysterious packages into homes and running off before coffee-stained guards have a chance to ask "Whose bag is this?", is a way for people to get together and suppress the minorities in a way that makes it feel inclusive.
Smiles are paralysed senses on the brink of laughter or outright breaking down into saltier and saltier marshes. The mouth, turning up at the face of all that is sad or rather mundane, is really looking to run and take care of itself. Away from your face. That liar in the mirror.
Starts and fits. No words for the leprotic when the bacteriotherapy fails to take. Bacteriotherapy, bacteriophage, it just more dissimulation: false promises and double bottoms.