The None Affair

The none affair The celebration ran into a Dogger bank that had been trawled of fishy life and turned into windblown sand of the endlessly repeated. Take-away food and Portuguese soap triteness was the name of the monotony. Red-eyed by watching tediousness in action, time for bed hoping a dream of glory would restore disappointment. Eight hours of pre-death, the thought landscape was dark. The morning had cold sun on the verandah, a day had gone never to return, swallowed up by the monolithic time The celebratory bottle of wine collects dust on a shelf.