5 am

It’s 5 am and the Ice Truckers are on the Ice road carrying oversized tyres. A pedipalp of emotions runs through your cerebrum. Tyres? Ice? Danger? DANGER? I’d rather Starbucks Hot Chocolate thank you. It’s seven am and there is a familiar certainty to the state of the world and the flow. of humanity. of different clothes wearing different bodies going separate places. Quietly and without a fuss. Like its all part of some divine plan. In an office, someone is cutting out paper people and putting them on top of buildings where somebody else will glue or staple them to till its time for another change.Them moments of recollection suppressed by newspapers offering you relief to buy happiness  and tv to see after dinner. On a schedule just like you. Begonias. grass. Cans of pop. It’s little it’s a lot. Chocolate bars at dawn. Eating muffins for breakfast. Strawberry scones for lunch or elevenses. Or a trip out to cholesterol heaven and a full English in a roll gets you drooling. what happened to work? new suit and IT guy. Office culture in a bun. Hum. It’s boring. Learning. A way to payday. A vision of rising at ten or later and making a bacon sandwich dripping with grease. Fried eggs. Mushrooms. Sausages. Beans. It’s better than it seems. It always is. Until you’re dead.


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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