City Hum

The fluorescent light hummed away its merry monotone tune, but still the cafe remained a little sullen. The early winters evening had wrapped its cold colourless hands around the place with greedy revere. A deep fryer sizzled in the back, the cook's shuffled feet another instrument added to the soundtrack. The kids were eating happily but making little noise, their cheery red cheeks slowly warming and returning to their original pale rose pigment. A few shadows passed by the tall cafe front windows, mostly black blurs of indistinguishable age or sex. The smell of salt and vinegar and hot fried potato was strong to the point of intoxication. The night rumbled on for miles around, the city was happy. And for the most part, so were its people. S.H.

Where Two Oceans Meet

The unavoidable position left no room for his initial reactions to be fulfilled. The drums were thunderous explosions, the sound waves echoing off the inside walls of his skull. She turned and the air rippled, the tottering surrounds oblivious to the effect. Her hair it moved like she was underwater. All on the outside looked calm among him but for the symphony of clatter that coursed its way around his body. Her eyes looked up and the atmosphere froze, the air itself seemingly ceasing to be. A second past. No more than a second of time elapsed and he was held firmly in place for a year. It felt like even longer. Her eyes of forever held his face with soft hands that could not be shaken nor moved. The drums ceased. Everything ceased. And the one shinning thought that now filled his head was "what the bloody hell do I do now?" S.H.

Jungle Drum

The drums began to tap in the distance, gradually building up their volume like an approaching train. The dissident looked for somewhere to hide, an instinctive reaction, and tried his best not to unsettle his head. The figure drifted closer, but still she did not see him. There were enough clothes racks and shinny shelves to help him blend, the constant buzz of beings helping his cause. She moved closer still. He tried his best to think like paint, to become part of the scenery and melt into the walls, a white boy on the white wash. He had noticed her in an instant, his body realising before his brain. The sight of her face from afar enough to squeeze his heart like a sponge. His skin crackled and shifted its nervous weight with alarming fervour, his blood thundering around his veins with exactly the same idea as to what to do with itself as he. S.H.

Go

With the drum rattling gone, the day carried on, and the dissident left the pavement. Over the road and onto the grass, a wide open expanse, skipping over a path or two when he came to it. Milling around in a great arc and the steel above his head subsided. Never able to keep away from the bustle for long, he turned into the sweep, the sway and to and fro, the marching mass, as it ran like a conveyer of faces. Through a door, into a store and the gentle browsing begins. The eyes wander and trip over a sight. The sight of a figure. A familiar figure? S.H.

The Bread

The bread. The bread. The doughnuts? No. The bread. What about the M&M cookies? They call to me with their little chocolatey voices. Their multicoloured bodies laid to rest amongst a grave of golden brown dough. Yes. Those will do nicely. I will take some of those. In walks a guy right out of a Dolce and Gabbana advert in GQ magazine. I guess he's looking for animal produce. Our little friend saunters up to the deli counter and enquires as to the brand label of the hairnet that the plump little lady behind the glass cases of meat is wearing. At least that's what I imagine he said, I can't say I was listening. Anyway, the bread. The guy thankfully exits my view and I'm left to wonder if he actually paid money for that shirt, of if it came with his Burberry sweater. I make a b-line for the checkouts. I exchange a crumpled bank note for my goods in a plastic bag and onto the streets once again I do venture. The sky is in it's own shade of steel, looking down on us all with a bored expression. I thread my best through the clatter alongside swiftly moving clumps of machinery and metal and hit the steps. A wide set that lead downwards like a gently sloping grey hill. Across the Mall, a cheeky wink in the direction of Her Majesty's abode, and it's into the park for me. Crunchy gravel and jumbled laughter from bohemian wannabes kindles my soundtrack of general city noise and my hunger ceases to be theoretical. Dead candy shells are calling. S.H.