74" in a cold riot

Pressed cardboard,

The planed edges Curling like veneers over long teeth, horns…

Peeling. Yellow. Clipped.

For all that, it seemed quite flawless, Hunkered down, On all Fours in the 2nd hand shop.

A good price.

A steal.

\”Just how do you intend to get it home ?\” the woman asked, my £10 note Crisply disappearing.

I stared at the casters.

\”We\’ll wheel it there,\” I said. \”Up around the corner.\”

\”You can\’t do that. The wheels will break.\”

Pencilled eyebrows  Darting, lightly drawn, Scribbled

\”On the pavement.\”

\”Well…\” I said. A little unconvinced.

We upended it onto the Trolley, finally.

My wife waved as she Lit out ahead with the baby stroller.

Boxing clever.

I was scarcely out the door when it listed, Crashed, Wounded itself at my feet.

\”Watch out !\” the woman winced. Two steps right behind me.

I wrestled it upright, Made it over the kerb, before it slid off again.

Hal Roach\’s music box. in and out a clinch.

I caught up with my  wife, my son,  Snatched it off the trolley and onto the  Stretcher. \”It\’s no use,\” I grimaced. \”All advice is lethal.\” We returned the trolley. Trundled it home Without further incident. Up two flights of stairs

To convalesce by the sofa, Cracked. Scarred. Mean black toes intact, but bruised. Jack Johnson On coiled uppers. Penultimately, quite

A\’right. MILES DAVIS: RIGHT OFF from \”A Tribute to Jack Johnson\” LP  (Columbia) 1971 (US)


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