Reverb pt .1
so...
italy, well Rome really - italy is actually quite nice and relaxed, Romes full of tourists and the remnants the old empire raped and dropped there.
i'm in my jet, bound for Rome the three seats are unoccupied so i slink my carcass into position and stretch my body across all of them for maximum loafage. The stewardess is a dutch goddess from a copy of the extremely naughty "flirting paradise" which i keep hidden in Hol's vinyl box. She lollops down the aisle to my row, when she brushes up against my boots she undoes the laces of my new rocks, pulls off my socks and starts rubbing the balls of my feet.
"your soles are tough, have you been walking far sir?"
"just carrying everything with me, i like walking, i couldn't walk to Rome mind."
"mmm.. still it's good that you're getting away from it all i suppose, some time away from the gray."
"yes, quite."
She stops squeezing the blood from my feet and motions for me suffle up on the seats and to turn around. I place my back towards her, i feel her weight on the seat next to me and and she begins to grip and tenderise my neck meats. I open my eyes for a brief moment and can see the Thames unwinding far below, the plane is heading further south, and the city is slowly stretching across the full view of the cabin window, the lights illuminating the sections that never sleep while a purple sky washes over the city. The city soon becomes a distant blur and i drift back o the excascy of my neck meat.
"forgive me, i should have offered this sooned but would you like anything to read sir? We have complimentary copies of the Radio Coma, Sheffield Sandman, The Fly, The Sunday Times, Rock sound.."
"could i possibly have a copy of the Coma please?"
"Of course! This months issue comes with a complimentry indie hour badge and a promo of the Vandhals EP, should i move onto your back or fetch it foe you now?"
"No, you've done quite the job on my neck already, i'd like that magazine please, thank you very much."
She pauses and lifts herself gracefully from the seat. She slinks further down the aisle to the galley and..
I feel a pang in my neck all of a sudden.
again
again
"Ryan Air flight 6549 to Rome Ciampino is now boarding at Gate eight."
i'm crumpled across 3 seats in the departure lounge, the pin of the indie hour badge is poking into my hand and the Coma's ink has started to run into my face. Small children scream outside me and i can see a unsteady line of people scramble through the gate doors, fighting the wind and rain to get the plane furthest from the terminal building.
- Thank fuck i'm getting away.
italy, well Rome really - italy is actually quite nice and relaxed, Romes full of tourists and the remnants the old empire raped and dropped there.
i'm in my jet, bound for Rome the three seats are unoccupied so i slink my carcass into position and stretch my body across all of them for maximum loafage. The stewardess is a dutch goddess from a copy of the extremely naughty "flirting paradise" which i keep hidden in Hol's vinyl box. She lollops down the aisle to my row, when she brushes up against my boots she undoes the laces of my new rocks, pulls off my socks and starts rubbing the balls of my feet.
"your soles are tough, have you been walking far sir?"
"just carrying everything with me, i like walking, i couldn't walk to Rome mind."
"mmm.. still it's good that you're getting away from it all i suppose, some time away from the gray."
"yes, quite."
She stops squeezing the blood from my feet and motions for me suffle up on the seats and to turn around. I place my back towards her, i feel her weight on the seat next to me and and she begins to grip and tenderise my neck meats. I open my eyes for a brief moment and can see the Thames unwinding far below, the plane is heading further south, and the city is slowly stretching across the full view of the cabin window, the lights illuminating the sections that never sleep while a purple sky washes over the city. The city soon becomes a distant blur and i drift back o the excascy of my neck meat.
"forgive me, i should have offered this sooned but would you like anything to read sir? We have complimentary copies of the Radio Coma, Sheffield Sandman, The Fly, The Sunday Times, Rock sound.."
"could i possibly have a copy of the Coma please?"
"Of course! This months issue comes with a complimentry indie hour badge and a promo of the Vandhals EP, should i move onto your back or fetch it foe you now?"
"No, you've done quite the job on my neck already, i'd like that magazine please, thank you very much."
She pauses and lifts herself gracefully from the seat. She slinks further down the aisle to the galley and..
I feel a pang in my neck all of a sudden.
again
again
"Ryan Air flight 6549 to Rome Ciampino is now boarding at Gate eight."
i'm crumpled across 3 seats in the departure lounge, the pin of the indie hour badge is poking into my hand and the Coma's ink has started to run into my face. Small children scream outside me and i can see a unsteady line of people scramble through the gate doors, fighting the wind and rain to get the plane furthest from the terminal building.
- Thank fuck i'm getting away.