...picked up on a long walk and carried home in your pocket
Thursday, March 9
The loud flourescent pink of her tight T-shirt rudely pulls at my gaze, and then nudges it down to the folds of belly hanging over her jeans, the colour of uncooked sausages. Further down the pavement is my postman, who rushes around as if he's on speed. I can see his hands shaking like a moth's wings from across the street.