Semi-regular nosebleeds. My unruly nose bleeds onto the handlebars of an oversized tricycle designed for people with special needs. I found it, presumably abandoned, outside the gates of the museum of clockwork, which was for some reason closed for the summer months. That is my story, you can ride it if you like. Either way it is not changing.
I have ridden this bicycle drunkenly past girls who were not impressed. Perhaps I am too old for a stolen oversized tricycle. I have ridden it half-naked past boys, to McDonalds, where I disguised certain things, as boys of a certain age do, with an extra long cardigan my mother knitted subconsciously for the purpose.
There is no Ellington’s anymore. That was a small independent chain of fast-food restaurants that only exists in this and a few neighbouring towns. Not in space, not in Belgium or London or France or even America. A handful of people – if they could fit in a hand – have been chosen by Destiny to taste Ellington’s Legendary Shakes. There is no Ellington’s any more, only McDonald’s. Which admittedly is cleaner, those guys run a tight ship because a friend told me their motto; “If you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean”.
I hope they don’t sue me for mentioning the name. It is not called McDoodles, and I am in love, with a girl I haven’t met yet but we will meet someday soon. I hope by then she knows me and because it is love I will not wear my mother’s cardigan.