Fag-Stop Killer

Bus stop pick up? Driver-change? Brake? Stop. Break. Driver desperate, desires to kill – ten minutes, just ten minutes of our time. Spluttering stop; bus cranks out in lullaby lay-by. Engine gasps, grumbles, grizzles, groans; passengers fidget and fudge – ferocious and desperate to kill. Driver’s all chewed-up, choking, croaking – “Just ten minutes!” Holding…

Refuel

Cumin, chilli, coriander, turmeric – combined, create turmoil in my head … Confused, dizzy and disorientated, I resist further intoxication, hold my breath, ignore the rumbling pleas from the labyrinth within and stumble onwards to Head Street to the 754, that waits patiently for today’s meal, an undernourished battery hen, past its best, unable to…

Tenner An Hour

‘Tisn’t bad, for a tenner an hour, to take the 87, for a morning run, for a couple of hours and a couple of passengers, for a break from routine, a drive to the town. The money’s not bad, if you’re on the way out From a life on the go … a pilot’s career…

Bus Youths

Flaps – dark eye-shutters, open at right angles to head-windows – clear, translucent, sparkling ports of access to a mass of perfectly-tuned, white-grey matter. Still young, still sprightly, and polished, ready to take on another day, to make synaptic deliveries, to utter profundities to similarly fresh-minded acquaintances about: the nocturnal habits of toilet rolls, enlisted…

High Street Millionaire

Wrap me in; keep the gap closed. This is my space, on the pavement, in the High Street, by the window. My space. Pirate flag. Plastic cutlass. Open book. Marking my page, and my space … next to and part of McDonald’s. A multi-millionaire. A McDonald’s man, with a little bit of pavement – to…