Boredom hung in the air, like a trampoline nailed

To the sky.

Yawn-some grey clouds ambled in slow

Moving Arial patterns.

The ridiculous lumpy green fields of the

English countryside spread out as

Far as the eye could be bothered to see.

And the only eye that could

Be bothered to see was looking

At the navel of it's owner.

And the navel, well, it wasn't

Much good except for holding muscle in

And keeping bacteria out.

Hands sweaty in the summer heat, one

With magazine, one with soft drink

Bottle.

The magazine being on of

Those described as a "lads mag."

A bible for the lost and unsure,

Also a minor source of extremely

Soft-core porn.

And the bottle? Well I would

Write the brand, but I don't

Like the idea of giving unsaid

Brand free advertising.

Anyways, getting side tracked

By the details back to the focus of

My tale.

Oh, forgot to mention a path , stagnant

With aged bubble gum, crack peppered,

Trash littered. An attempt at ultimate

Flatness, it's failure shown in the eventualities

Of reality cracks. Fractures in it's normalized

Faded perfection, time inflicted reality infected

Truth.

On human filled streets of lonesome crowds

Buying, selling; just being.

The old people cricked, cracked and bad backed.

Bloated Mobility scooter blobs. Fine ladies of the day,

Dressed to suggest ladies of the night.

The casual noise splashed on to walls ,

Rebounded with the strokes of an master artist

In the throes of frustration….wait; getting

Side tracked again.

Back to the main character….oh shit!

I'm not going to be able to find him in this

Crowd, errrm…what was his name?

Was it tim? Nah that's not it.

Bugger !oh well that café' looks

Good. Wonder what their cappuccinos

Are like. Mmmm, those tuna melts look

Tasty…….

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