Crowds like frantic schools of fish charging and slapping by one another to escape the fisherman’s anchor flung into the sea.
‘Oh my God, oh my God!’
Windows opened outward to show the inside. A youthful trio of two women and one man hunched over a table in a darkened bar. The man gestures with large white hands as he begins, ‘The average life expectancy is …’
A woman flicks her cigarette at the pavement between her and a man.
‘You should fuck her.’
‘When you get triggered, it’s like, immediate, like, I know it is for me …’
In a speech bubble: UNRULY.
Packed into the train carriage, pressing against the sticky bare skin of other passengers. The air is thick with heat. Passengers panting, not wanting the stench of sweat dampened armpits, thighs, and feet to assault their senses. Relief comes at leaving the tube station, stepping above ground to the quiet street. And still, the air is not as clear as one would hope.
A nation preoccupied with angels. They stand golden above the world, brandishing swords and holy books.
Walls where the bones of royal children were buried, hidden from the probing law.
A gold crown to pin at the top of a widow’s head. Small enough to fit a child’s skull. Diamond encrusted, shining as if the jeweller had stolen a strip of the night sky.
Room of wooden horses, a black one leading the pack, all adorned with lancing armour and faceless mannequin soldiers at their side.
Gold banquet platters, one embossed with the Last Supper, and fruit punch bowls decorated with cupids, lions and unicorns.
A bell tolling across the grey sky.
Two year acting course at The Poor School.
ANGEL FOOD & WINE