what I talk about when I talk about walking

Mark Lewis, still from Rush Hour, Morning and Evening, Cheapside, 2005.

Last night, walking home from my studio: o fair maiden. I rounded the corner and there she was, the silhouette of some lithe creature between the ages of 20 and 65, pushing a half-filled shopping cart stopstartstopstart, cursing and muttering and pausing every so many feet to throw her head back and *belch*. O sweetness. O light. She was crossing the street when a kid (well, he looked like a kid, that striped t-shirt, that speed) came up on his bicycle, and said something I couldn't hear, and she said something back about him being a selfish little prick. Then he was off. I took one last look of longing as I walked away and she rattled down into the darkness. Then she paused once more to fart. O princess.


  1. my old auntie used to fart in time to her walking - she was deaf so couldn't hear us giggle behind her

  2. Striped t-shirts do say 'kid' don't they?


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