Pigeons

October 25, 2009

2.

“Why do pigeons always get run over by double-decker buses?” exaggerated Selma from behind an irregularly triangular parsley-cockaccino-lattecano at Neu, the latest anti-capitalist coffee / cake bar in town, where they sold gift boxes filled with rotting flowers as an ironic statement parodying the current political situation in Southern Yugoslavia and Kent.

“They don’t, they just talk about it on Richard and Judy” he returned in flimsy retort, causing predictably abundant ejaculate of frenzied snorting laughter to be eagerly spat forth from the mouths of his friends, his fucking concubines in kind. Cringing with all the discomfort of a newly-wed’s thirst, although still reeling from his glorious victory at the clinic that morning, he got up, surreptitiously clutching his brand new Becotide 100 preventative inhaler in his trouser pocket, and fucked right off out of there without even looking back or anything; he even left his jacket, but went back later to collect it when everyone had left (he watched from behind a bin at the other side of the road).

So anyway, while pondering excreta on the pavement outside the tube station, he realised it was time. Time to go home and polish the ‘piece’ he’d been working on for the last seven or so months. It was a fresh ‘thing’ he thought, this ‘piece’, fresh enough even for Caleb to have a look and not tear it to fucking shreds immediately again like he did last time, fucking igneous fuck. I mean he really couldn’t give a reindeer’s spatula for what Caleb had to say, he just showed his stuff to him for a laugh, for his own amusement at his friend’s predictably established thoughts, and it provided a useful insight into how the yoghurt-eating, pop-ingesting masses might react to his work, something which always gave him a chuckle.

As soon as he sat down to work on his daffodil, as he liked to think of it, it came to him, like cider vomit hitting the porcelain bowl while a friend holds her inebriated companion’s hair back, rice, yes that’s it, fucking rice man.

Advertisements