My Diary

I answered the door with a telephone moustache; the lady on the step was holding pair of boots – I asked if they had stopped dancing and she said they hadn’t even started. I secretly knew a lot of things that hadn’t started but I kept them to myself. June had taken her feet to work and I had to sit on scaffolding around the Empire State Building eating my lunch before I could follow the thought bubbles of a dreaming head. I painted as a silver skinned alien: the colours on my palette arranged like grave stones and I was just going to start reading their inscriptions when June came back early wanting information – the cat wanted a smile like the Mona Lisa and the forester from “The Cunning Little Vixen” wanted a three piece suit for a Rhode Island Red rooster.

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