So I’ll be posting this on friday as things should be, the worlds gone mad since the world went mad, thank God for Rochelle who, somehow, seems to hold all this stuff together by virtue of sellotape and roof tacks (the best tack). Thanks also in part to Lisa Fox who has provided this photo, which Ive had time to think over, and therefore have enough to make a coherent story. But true to form, I’ve decided to take a bad idea and run with it…
On My Marks…
Leathers on; no pants, bit sweaty.
He felt sexy in his garage of isolation. He’d cover himself in some sort of engine grease later and have to throw away t-shirts and bed sheets. Not for the first time.
Since he’d got himself stuck in the real-feel sex partner, or blow up doll to us, life was plastered first over the front pages of the gutter press, and then latterly daubed on the wall of his recently deceased Mum’s bungalow.
She would be so proud.
So he purchased a motorbike, to attract the gullible and illiterate… he’d tried everything.
There we are 100 words written in about 5 minutes, little editing on the subject of extreme masturbation and elusive love. Enjoy!