Grimbeau

Wyoming, 1953. Interior: Homestead. No Boy. No Van Helsing 
Superstition plays stridently in the henhouse...
—Eliza there is no genie, there is no bottle—it’s all in your head!
Eliza looked at the genie and the bottle and smiled
—And I am not Aladdin, I am Alan Ladd
Eliza sucked the genie up with her pipette, 
filled the bottle, and sealed it with the orange 
rubber bung from her gingham pinafore, got up tutting, 
shook her pigtails and hollered. 
-Well,Silly old me, she said, I do go on sometimes, don’t I? 
How do you put up with me?
Alan Ladd winced and smiled simultaneously. 
Good question.
—What shall we eat tonight?
—Dunno…mince?
Better get some out then
—Okay
~
Abingdon, 2002. Interior: Abattoir kitchen, morning. Tiptoe through the Tulips 
fills the air
—Matter prevails over anti-matter, it’s self-evident, said Zak pouring 
yak’s piss over his brexit, slurping Jasmin tea, slicing a green banana, 
feeding a profound need to purge.
—Yes, said Andreas Muggleton, hurry up for God’s Sake I’m famished.
—Food is love and love is to be nurtured, said Zak, buttering wholemeal toast
Bollocks, thought Andreas Muggleton, restraining his tongue till he got fed
—How could you be wrong?
—Here, get that down you
—Wanker
~
Saragossa, last Tuesday. Exterior: Orange grove, dawn, two bodies hang, Yaketty-Yak blasts from the Tannoy
Ferdinand and Isabella were not talking again. The silence was golden. 
Man, could they go on when they got started. Three days was nothing to them. Their record was six. 
They held the Bigmouth Ruler’s Cup eight years running. 
The novelty had long worn off.
~
Los Alamos, 1944. Exterior: Carwash. The Sun has got his Hat on sung by 
Billie Holliday, crackly car radio.
-Oomph, that’s what we need. Oomph! 
-No mate, graft is what we need. Graft!
Chain gang noises exercised Paul Muny and the Seven Dwarfs all morning
-Hi-Ho! said Walt, dodging airborne digging implements.
A nightmare in the dream factory, Walt’s Deepest secret fear.
When will Herbie ever ride again?
~
Here, today. Interior: Coal Hole. Hit the Road Jack echoes from 
inside the big house.
Witheld rang ten times
Nobody answered twice
How very remiss, thought a piece of wayward Anthracite