Evening all, the virus shows no sign of abating, the leaders of the free world are floundering, and trying to blag us all, well you can’t kid a kidder, and in this small corner of the internet there exists an oasis of calm, hosted by the guru Rochelle, posting a picture every week which we chose to write a story in only 100 words with a beginning, a middle and an end based on at the photo below, this week provided by Sandra Crook this week. So without further ado I’d best get cracking.
On My Marks…
Said the bitter elderly man, cantankerous and resistant to change. He’d had to take a job as a delivery driver when the tourists stopped coming and the gigs dried up.
“Those cunts wouldn’t know the difference between Nic Jones and Howard Jones, bastard heathens, no fucking class”
He’d had to keep the peace, not wanting to upset the landlord, comfortable in his seaside apartment. But they’d come in search of isolation, something had to give and they could afford the rent.
Filling and emptying the van of horse shit outside the apartment he walked off. The engine still running.
100 words on the nose, I think, about the disintegration of society hidden in plain sight.