‘Nothing illegal here, mate!’ he declares, as he passes a clear-plastic sandwich bag over to a consort.
The bag, of course, containing a quantity of white powder, on full view for all passers by.
The lad, of course, containing a head stuffed full with similar bags of white powder, where once sat a brain, half-formulated.
The head, perched on a skin-and-bone body, complete with spanking-new Adidas trainers.
The trainers standing on a railway bridge, proud and firm.
The railway bridge, lording it over the fairground below.
The fairground stuffed full with young teens –
ripe for the powdering.
‘Nothing illegal here, mate!’ he concludes.
And, he’s right. Honest. For there’s no police presence. Nothing to stop the trainers, the spotters, the hawkers, the carnies and the teens from submitting to …
There’s nothing illegal,
because there’s no-one here who’s
there’s no-one here who’s
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, 7th August 2019