FOXOSD
Poking down the chimney goes little Tom. A man of funky, implausible genetics, of touching optimism and of multitudes of spiteful carcinogens. We might ask: Can carcinogens be anything like that? They can for instance be God’s trip wire, sending any blundering walker tumbling down, through many indefinable layers of grey gas and grey cloud into the catchment flask. Into the alembic Tomb World. Is this spite though? No, this what you would call fate. The spiteful particles are those fuzzy HIV pollens which make death from sex.
The Tomb world and cancer are topical right now. Not up here on the roof tops of endless townhouses but down a touch, and a couple of miles away. A giant stream of pink dressed women and pink dressed homosexual men and pink dressed ‘new men’ are walking to find a cure for Cancer. Are they walking to the clinic? Ha Ha, I am being funny.They are making a pinky thread, though the haze. The evening is so beautiful with all that haze. That sort of evening when you are happy to be earning national minimum wage scraping out fucking chimneys in Didsbury.
Pink is the colour, which in my cynical days, seems now to be associated to the death thrashes (and inevitable defecation upon tae the corpse) of Altruism. Human kindness from 2010 onwards will nearly always be uniformed. Sometimes though, it might be out of uniform and in a crazy chicken suit in the train station. Pink is also the colour of tits.
So.. in the meantime, Toms got his Hookstick down that flue and fished out a dead Fox!
“DAS STINKT!” Says German Petey, from behind his boiler suit sleeve. Oh! But this is too much fun for the little maligner to resist.
“Can I have a fucking Gin and Tonic?” Asks the now re-animated sweaty corpse, with sausage fingers prying open and shut those ceased up rotted jaws. The fox is talking in squeaky Cockney and is now approaching Petey, who (wisely) shoots off down the scaffold tower to smoke. Now, the fox Bipeds its way to the roof edge to see if it can’t get any action with any late starters to the walk.
“hey you two”
“Hey YOU TWO”
“HEY CANCER LADIES”. Ah, a response now.
“Want to come up and get some action (pausing here) With A FOX!?”
What is this? All these girls can see is a little piece of something flapping around, annihilated in the brightness of the background. They are generic nice girls who are bright but not intelligent, educated and naturally intimidated by any shouting, but know that this mustn’t be made obvious. Anyway, what can you or anyone do when a silhouette flaps around a rooftop and asks you for it? Well, the bolder one, the freckled one, she declines with amazing manners.
“That’s just fine, ‘cause you don’t have a pair of tits between you!”
The freckled one, the bolder one breaks into a run up the street. Petey shoves the fox back down the flue and packs it down like, maybe his ancestor did with a cannon ball once.
