Note that time, the morning shift is done.

Chats, coffee, fags and candles.

The incubator of the day’s potential gossip.

The Bullshit Zone.

I am a serious writer, he smirked

and stared at the word ‘smirked’,

half laugh, half cough, throat clearing tune, drumbeat

of phlegm, weak husky,

light breathing,

round shouldered smoker,

playing poker with the day.

Do you think it’s bluffing?

Let it go, Jo…

Yes, the early shift,

the pause for ninety,

then the second, windless coming.

Hunger grows.

Food consumes time.

Time is food’s next meal.

What is mine?

A plate of last night

or something novel.

A pineapple and oxtail pastie?

Sounds nice.

Might catch on…

Are there crisps, snacks,

nibbles, biscuits, chocolate trees,

crackers enough to shut me up?

I pause.

Revise.

Devise.

Invent.

Come up with new things.

See if they fit, if they are the right size,

if they squeak when I walk.

What colour, taste, smell?

What is the provenance?

The pedigree.

No – it was not enough.

It was Plenty.