milk/
| Groaning as he goes the man stumbles down the
stairs. How could he forget? He'd noted it down, reminded himself repeatedly yet still... Milk...early in the day it felt like humanity's very existence depended on it. |
||
| The fatty emulsion squirted from a grass
eating, farting mammal. No so appetising when its said like that. But he wanted his cold milk. White, opaque, delicious. Cold milk. 62p. Digging dip into dirty designer pockets he rustles in amongst the coins. He feels a 50 and a couple of tens. No wait, he has exact change. There. "Nice morning, eh?" "Yeah, its ok I guess." "You ever thought milk was alive." "Nope." "Think about it sometime." |
alive/ | |
| woosh/ | Would she have waited for him? No way of knowing. He hurried back, shuffling up the stairs, fumbling his way through the door. A quick look about. She hadn't waited. Oh well. He settled down to a quick bowl of cereal. Meow. Yes she had. |
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