The camera’s aperture opens on a party. A party where everyoneis singing. A party where everyone is dancing. Her face becomes visible through its reflection in transparent objects. Music plays, bottoms bump, voices are thrown, heat rises, glasses clink and spill. Everything is nothing here. The camera pans to a window where a black cat with one white paw stretches back on its haunches then leaps onto an old corrugated roof. The cat lands gracefully, nonchantly balancing on the edge, trots forward then stops suddenly to lick its arse.
She drinks and dances. She is happy under the sky.
They spoke British and were fascinating.
“Here it is a forest” he says.
A man sits in a bus station, it smells of wee. He unwinds the loop of cotton and places the body of the instrument into his mouth. He winds the cotton around his ear and speaks like Mr Punch.
He searches for the perfume he wants but it isn't on display in the shop. Suddenly he is lost in the brightly coloured neon signs which lured him in in the first place. He overhears an American women speak about her love for the Italians but the French…well.
He decides that he will buy his perfume from the market telling himself it will be cheaper. He takes his camera out of his pocket and takes a photo of a passing dog.
He watches the large advertisement board flicker. He watches a man caress his ipad with the deftest, most gentle of touches from fat, oversized fingers. A passing lady drops her bags. Her child walks the tightrope of the paving slabs.
The flock are away. Away from the flock.
One man offers coffee, then something with a chocolate sauce. It looks sugary. Enough to give you diabetes through the eyes. The bad one. The women serving at the counter dashes past the long queue and stops at the table of a lone women.
The women from the counter brandishes her passport and speaks in a language the lone women does not understand
But she is grateful. She touches the womens hand.
Then grabs her arm and cradles it. This goes on longer than I expect and I become self conscious and look away, inadvertently making eye contact with a man who looks like a frog.
The lone woman continues to thank the women from the counter by holding her arms and speaking in a language the she does not understand.
A man hangs from a bridge now
His head is turned to one side and he is smiling at something
There is magic there.
A girl with hair like straw smiles.
She is with friends but all she cares for is the photographer.
In the sky now.
I stretch my neck, bring my hand to my eyes to see how close it is.
The fireball
A man checks his phone as it bleeps.
it is in a leather holster on a belt around his proud stomach.
The phone has buttons rather than touch
There are no messages
He checks
He checks
He checks
He checks
He checks again
How can she not see?
The representation of objects
They are both waving
Man waves
Women waves
Having a beer in the sky has to be one of the perks of being a human being. Perhaps I can glimpse heaven.
Perhaps I don't exist.
The man who sits across from me, he drinks like he is an alcoholic.
The girl next to him eating a sandwich prepared at home puts her head in her hands and let's out an enormous sigh
He smiles like he has been gutted
it is a deep sigh.
Like he has not known before
The old women hums a Rod Stewart song. She is clearly self medicating, tapping the ring on her index finger against the rim of the padded arm rest. Hard times have come and gone for her. She’s lost everything, I think. Her worn face is honest and true. I order another drink, some pringles and a bacon sandwich.
We grow fat from the tree, the old women
