Gleaming white buildings. The new museum at the end of the road.
The light. It was the light. Drawn to it I guess. Walking up and down, the big white building but mostly the sky.
A plane. Jets across the sky, white streams and the orange pitch of late afternoon. Vastness, the vastness of the sky
The airforce. Is this preoccupation real or imagined? She is never sure. Possibly on occasion she has been, to be sure, flighty. The flight. The white flight. To fly. Peter Pan.
Ah fuck Peter Pan. She didn’t believe in that crap, always some old bag trying to make you feel inferior like somehow you didn’t get it, when in fact you always got it which is why you went so hard for fuckssake.
Dodos. What they needed to be told was to drop dead, hunched old Happy Feet buzzards coming mostly to mind
Manipulating agents. Fuck me.
What was being protected wasn’t a bunch of kids who grew up in the era of employment contracts.
Strangely defensive of the generation if you can defend a generation
Yeah. A soft one. Just kids.
A certain calm descended when the capitals hit. Nerves AWOL. MIA. Sort of always feels like where she is meant to be.
No clue.
Puts on her clothes.
Looks away. Sighs.
I guess that was why she liked it. Wasn’t sure.
Stops. Looks in the mirror.
Barnaby wondering how the proverbial hit the fan when the signs were there in black and white baby.
Black and white.
No subtleties there.
You built a mine near a thoroughbred farm for fuckssake. Jesus.
These people are morons.
Laughs
Bloody idiots.
Looks away.
Witch hunt out of control without any of the subtleties of real life.
Held to account.
And just who was going to be holding who to account.
Matter of opinion.