The Dock was the colour of green milk

Trust me in this, it was. Not only that but there were no reflections, just shadows cast on the water. And it’s hotter than hell and two lads walked past me wearing hoodies.
I mean, honestly lads, it’s 2:30pm, it’s 80 degrees in the shade and there isn’t any shade. It’s so hot Dante’s editor has been on the phone to him asking for the manuscript back because he’s a bit concerned about some of the imagery because it’s hotter than hell here. And you’re wearing hoodies.
But then as I got into town, there I saw the victim. Stripped to the waist, he hadn’t been tattooed, he’d been assaulted by a graffiti artist. The thing covering half his paunch wasn’t art, it was a doodle. If he’d paid for it, he’d not merely been assaulted, he’d been robbed.
And further down the street was a lad, stripped to the waist, with his trousers hanging not too far above his knees.
It was then that this picture came to mind.

Real-Gangsters

I’m wondering about getting a thousand printed out as business cards then I can just hand them out to people. But what it really needs is an ‘app.’ When you walk past someone, your phone interrogates theirs and the sends them a text with the picture attached. If smart phones could do that, even I’d be tempted to buy one.
But I’m a big sort of chap really; with a little practice, perhaps eat a bit more, exercise a bit less, I could be about the same size as a bunch of eighteen year old girls I saw later.
But all this must pass. Out of town now, cresting the hill and I caught the breeze. There, in with the smell of the dust, diesel, dead grass and at least three different woods, was the smell of the rain.
Smell it, in another couple of hours I’ll be able to taste it. Yes, all this will pass. Tomorrow or the day afterwards we’ll become sensible people again, the mistakes gracefully concealed under more forgiving garments, and you never know, I might even be a bit less acerbic.
Could be a win-win for everyone that.

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