Friday, 8 February 2013


Sweet smell in the smoky upstairs of a red bus.
An old man in pork pie hat smoking a Honeyrose cigarette.
The sea falls away at a 45 degree angle.
I'm wearing a black polo neck sweater my mother knitted for me.
I'm feeling slightly sick, what with the smoke and the quantities of yoghurt coated raisins I've been eating.

The bus smells like dope but the old man doesn't seem to know or care. A bee floats in through the open window and starts to doodle up and down the glass trying to find its way out again. 


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