Dead Job End

There she was, my dead grandmother lying in her coffin, waiting to be burned. I felt incredibly anxious studying her endlessly sleeping, noting how her make-up was far better than she ever had it living. I tried to point this out, but no one would listen, insisting she was always a master at powdering. I thought it unwise to bring up her drug past in relation to this, so left the room to have a panic attack about it all somewhere else. Continue reading

Loiter

 

She didn’t care much for the dreamers sprawled outside her home. They looked so peaceful with their heads between their driving wheels, so happy with their faces rubbing against the dog shit covered ground. How easily they slept with all their daily stress evaporating. She wondered if she too would fall asleep if she stepped outside, but she did not. Not even a freak event could get her to sleep, and so she spent the morning scribbling obscenities on their flesh, searching pockets for cash, and trying to get some sleep of her own, at home and in the road.

Morning Commute

He arrived at the bank at 8.45am, clutching a series of filled change bags. Once he’d arrived in front of the queue, he realised that there wasn’t much of a queue at all. Instead he saw a street full of bodies lying on the floor, lying in the road, lying by the door. For a minute he considered a massacre, but he began to notice the sound of snoring, the rising of snot bubbles, and the turning and scratching of backs. That morning the world was still asleep, and he watched the dreamers, simply wondering how much change he had.

 

Loose Change

One pence, two pence, five pence, ten. These are the coins that you never pick up, they are best left for someone who really needs them, after-all. But twenty pence, pick that off the floor whilst no-one’s looking. Fifty pence, it doesn’t matter if anyone’s looking. And a pound… well, you scramble. That’s what I did when I saw the coin sparkling from the sun on the concrete ground, as if winking at me. I dropped to its level, and crawled up to it before anyone else could claim it. A homeless man watched me scoop it up, too slow. Continue reading

Hole

”So, I’m looking in the mirror and I realize how futile it all is.”

”Futile, how?”

”Well, my eyebrows are uneven, my hairline recedes, my nose is too big, and you can count the chicken pox scars with two hands. Tom Cruise I ain’t.”

”Tom Cruise has money.”

”And that’s the problem.”

”Perhaps some slow breathing will sort you out.”

”That’s how I’ll find wealth?”

”Um… yeah, sure.” Continue reading