Text Message No.16

The Stall,
East Lane Market
London
SE17


17th December 2006


Dear Alg Mob,

Your dad this morning, first thing - “He’s a right grass that barney, a right grass”. I thought, get a life Chris, he’s not a person. Then he went on to explain that Barney had made a noise to grass up the cat because it was eating some leftovers on the side, and he couldn’t have any himself. To which Chris reckoned “now if he’d have used his loaf (the cat this is), he could have kicked a bit of pizza off the side to keep Barney sweet”. The fact that these are household pets, and not a couple of university graduates, seems to have slipped his memory somewhere along the line.

Your’s Sincereley,


Mike Mob

Train Excerpt No.2

I do like these Lewisham places
These grey and monotonous fascias.
They're recalling a memory terribly vast
a christmas in winter, impoverished past
But whose memory? I haven't the faintest.

Miss Plain Pink Panther

She wears a Pink beret
and wraps her nylon scarf
half heartedly round her small
pale neck
Her cold, restrained lips contrast
only slightly with her freckly cheeks
If im honest
wetness is only to be found deep
within her
Pink neutralises her
Hazel eyes, the only sign of flavour
remain hidden under fluttered
eyelids. occasionally glancing,
readjusting, and shying away,
on seeing me take any one of
my numerous looks at her.
Not at all like blondie