Fleurf

Speckled perspiration tickled my face. Coarse skin awash with sweaty freckles. It was humid here, I could almost see the thick moisture hanging loosely in the air: the hazy clouds were sitting lazily, pressing themselves against the window. A tiny crack in the pane of glass suddenly caught my attention out of the corner of my eye:  a tiny red spider was weaving it’s way across it, spinning wildly and jittering around like a jelly on a jackhammer. The room I sat hunched in was small and empty. The floor was dusty - probably not disturbed for decades before I entered. A single wing-backed chair lay toppled on one side in the far corner, it

The city was alive tonight: A tramp sat on a park bench, reminiscing on past events of his once fruitful life; A business man strolled down the road, a big, fat greedy grin planted firmly on his face; A local florist stared out of the window and across the road, her eyes settling on the large, corporate flower shop that had just opened opposite; A man sat in his hotel room, the phone in his hand and thoughts of love and sadness sitting restlessly in his mind; A butchers apprentice gulped as he watched his master massacre the hopeless corpse of a piglet, A smug grin across his chubby face; In the park an old man sat facing an empty chessboard,