Pencil & Spoon - Trapped/Pissed

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The air is sharp. Not as in clean and crisp, refreshing. It's razor-like. It hurts. The usual walk is different today. It's a sensory overload. It's louder, busier, worse. A Hitchcockian zoom-in/track back. Vertigo. Everyone looks like someone else, someone vaguely famous, someone I've never met. Eyes are sore. Saw. Like forgotten contact lenses, like beer goggles, the morning after. The morning after. The morning now. A too-familiar daily routine isn’t the same. It's warped. It's like a movie, a bad movie, one not worth watching, one I don't want to be in. This ungodly feeling caused by those godly beers. Forgive me father, or something like that.



What didn't make the final edit, in no particular order: At the same time acutely focused and blurry… A loose grip of dignity... Stomach is in limbo between here and there. I don't want to go there... Greggs is an oasis… There's a drumming noise inside my head, sings Florence, it feels like her Machine... There were some revelations, too many temptations.




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