My Diary

June and I slept on electricity pylons, crackling as we turned over. I got up when the dog was crowned Queen. I followed her majesty along the royal three quarters of a mile, keeping an eye on the chain smoking robots that lined our path – one coughed as a modulating frequency (I would have thought it would have been digital) and I composed my thoughts backwards, arriving at the question sometime after I had found the answer. June wanted to go to town in a flying pumpkin – instead of a flying coach – and we stopped off in a stone age cave to add graffiti to the pictures of running bison: they promptly stopped, as did the background music to the film we were in – June jumped off and went back home while I moved into the adverts instead.


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