RAINBOW CLOWN NEWS

He coughs all over the new seats, the camomile sleeve hems dragged back along his arms up to the kink in his better elbows, and the whle time he tells me about the Martian invasion he witnessed upon the Albion football field in late 2006. I don’t know where to look. I notice a gaunt faced fellow eating a bowl of spaghetti and green flowers three seats back, eyes giant spiders in the jars of his spectacles darting about the train, anywhere but the bowl he holds like three melons, fresh, fat and old as dough. Then the train guard appears in the carriage after a downpour of steel levers shunting two doors shut, smoke billowing like salad dishes from the tiny chickens of his ugly pornography face. Eye gleams of early winters trying to out psych you know who, whose story is becoming ‘difficult’, is starting to harbour essayists and unusual planets and left over pasta breads.

I am two stations away from getting up and leaving through the doors and folding my body into christmas evenings of drinks cabinet conversations looking out over golf clubs of overweight accountancy firm get togethers. I can already smell the platforms, their weird chalets selling tickets to rain coat row your boat going men with moustaches of mould and soup.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 12th, 2008 at 4:20 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.