As I lengthened the bridge they stood and waited. Infested, filthy, coarse and homeless.
He said I should know his face, I'd seen him at Paolozzi's foot at the top of the walk on Saturday.
"Can't you remember?"
"No".
As I turned to check for the second time, I witnessed the beginning of the most beautiful arch of red stained saliva I had ever seen. (Slowly transcending the air and unearthing the muscular distance between us both).
I admired its elegant resilience, watching it flying, spinning and constantly secreting on its path.
Until finally, it came to halt so daintily upon me, circling lightly, before sinking so perfectly in the pocket of my wrinkled, sagging, baggy eye.
United together, they began to squawk at the delight of this unlikely success. Whilst I stood flushed, rather embarrassed, and wiping my sleeve (as hard as I could), diagonally across the length of my face.
