Meat.7

spiderhair tuesday

Not a bad walk for the time of year.  I’ve caught a break in the rain from the looks of it.  Tarmac’s shiny, the air’s cool, a bright off-white full moon’s out.

I hear a helicopter in the distance.  Somebody’s escaped from somewhere or otherwise been up to no good.

Walk by the shops, closed and dark now; butchers, bakers, wholesalers and the like.  Some homeless bloke’s bent over halfway down this high street, leaning by the crown of his head against one of the sickly trees that line the thoroughfare.  Don’t know what he’s doing here and I won’t be investigating.  I’m not interested in acting anyone’s saviour.

Onward down the side street that leads to the street home, by the gay bar everyone knows is underground, next to the fruit and veg shop.  How the authorities haven’t closed it down or some idiot militant hasn’t firebombed the place…

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