Continental jass sounds down Cheltenham ped street, across hare and coffee table, green leaves over brown wood, the magic lantern under Wilkos bag, next to old man book, film and music.
One knife and handkerchief sitting in silence together united by jass sounds. Small conversations in cafe scenes, baby shrieks.
'Shut the fuck up, dumb arse baby' Greg mutters, coughs and clears his throat, and again.
'Who am I going to have a child with?' Gregory laughs, the music turns blue, guitar sweeps lonely notes through mellow sadness while the paper's turned and a table is cleaned. I stole his latte and croissant then he sneezed and I laughed out loud, it seemed appropriate. 'Less is more' I thought.
The croissant wafted good smells from my lap, imagine the butter melting inside the warm, flaky pastry. I pick at it, the baby giggles, unrelated of course. What a delight children can be.
'Tomorrow's hero, where will he come from?'
The jassy voice walks over, my croissant and coffee hiding gag gets rumbled. Greg lets off a massive backside grunt and then says he wants to live with the girl he met last night. 'I don't know' I replied.
I'm going to give this pen back to the lady.
