Calf length doctor martins with a tarten finish.
Neatened naturally scatty hair
Scraped into a chequered hat.
She spluttered, flapping her white cardigan and clapping her bags.
Punching her own logic into the funny frustrated air.
Two men, tall and suave. Like movie stars.
Their muted, expensive glamour was smooth. Their presence felt statuesque.
They carved into their rare, time untouched characters.
Regal reliefs to the lively jacks, the jiggling, stupid and the grateful.
In a box, a tiny box, full of loud people. The punchy breasts of one woman, big as the next man's head, were like a person negotiating and commanding the floor.
Move over grandma, take a look at these and tell me you can't let me through. Pout. Her arse sailed in.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device