Three streets west of sensible, the crumbled remains of an inconstant wreckage, outsourced by ruthless, vindictive life vandals, did the only decent thing and started moaning about the unchanging colour of Autumn skies.
Yesterday disappeared and was replaced by another yesterday and another yesterday and another yesterday. Variable or fixed rate existence?
Seven life-sentences later and all was back to normal in the cut-throat business of cutting throats. The mess was unbelievable and not to be witnessed by the faint out-smarted.
Grief danced, wishes were replaced by solitude, and despondency became a byword for existence; those elevated beyond the realms of the ordinary came smashing down to earth with the sound of a thousand unshouted arguments.
“What the fuck are you looking at?!” screamed an innocent bystander, who was later reported to have been in cahoots, which just goes to show.