June and I visited the Noah lady again to pull animals from her pretend beard - over enthusiastic as usual I also removed the stone entrails from a sedimentary rock yak as well as the diamante launch pad of a V2 missile, several probabilities from a quantum mechanical computer and a frying pan last used by Thor to hit Loki (both were in drag and wore stockings in complimentary colours). We didn’t have very good news about smudge face (although worse was to come for chocolate girl) and we came home wearing African land snails as hats - I was amazed that mine had reached my breast pocket by the time I had got home as June‘s was still acting as a light house on her promontory head. I pulled a periscope down from the light rose and pretended to see the future instead of the past.
The terminally sick farm boy, who was no more than five, impatiently prattled from a smushed back seat beset with nacho chip crumbs and a warm helping of afternoon orange/yellow sunsplash.
Without mouthing a single word, which in most circles would be considered perfectly normal, he blearily windowed the continuous zip of painted white road slashes and loosely held a hopeful grip on moist and falling apart animal crackers.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads