Dead Tracks 25

version x10

Bittern StormsFACE

I’m the happy face with the exaggerated movements in the solitary of my shop.


Happy. Whistling. Mugging. Overpronouncing. Enlivening their mornings my way.


Sitting alone at the side, upon a pile of the Daily Mail I drag on the rolled cigarette and curse, muttering to myself. That bitch. My money, not hers. I won’t let this rest. Following to the grave.


I spit and throw the fag down. The door chings open. I bound up, enlivening their mornings, my way.