Down the road. Down the road he came across a lazing Lazy Susan wondering if she was fit like a pig on a spit for turning. Barely moving, somnambulately, bearlike moving, hardly opening lips she emitted a long slow imperceptible Naaaaaaaah. Nooooooooot likely. Enjoying her vowels, stretching out engagement with consonants cancelling commas disregarding punctuation. This sun he thought. This sun and what it does to people. The way they barely move. Their stillness. Its like a preparation for the final moment when their eyelids pop open like a shutter blind with a mind of its own whence the fingers of others find employment in closing the drapes. Not for Steve this long descent. Fat. He thought of lard and pork dripping. Crackling. Over cooked, crispy bacon rind. Sausages. The belly of the beast. Its outer skin. So much to look forward to. So much tar to cover down the road. He looked back over his spindley spidery shoulder. One last look at lazing Lazy Susan. Was she still breathing? He considered it hard to tell and in truth its not something he wished to know.
Blog - Richard Downes