Thursday, 5 May 2011

pew number three

Peering out from behind the pastel white wooden door, I could hear the gentle hum of dislocated singing seeping under my door frame - Matthew is a friend whom I have known for a few years, and is unfortunately not blessed with an amazing singing voice. Through numerous online games I have come to know him better and have eventually ended up in numerous Skype conversations with him; which explains the singing. I cautiously placed my foot upon the dirty cream carpet, the difference in textures causing me to startle a little. Hesitantly, I hauled my other foot from out of the ocean and into the desert. Something was wrong. My iron levers and alloyed cogs ground to a rusty halt. Red dust cascaded from the walkways and showered the workers, scalding oil spilled out from the vats as men fled from it's already singed path.

Something was stuck to my foot.

Alarm bells rang, red lights flashed and screaming pierced the subtle darkness as the workers ran to their stations, oil raced into every orifice of the men too slow. Occupational hazards.

The offending article was toilet paper. I was most annoyed.

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