Work in Progress

Only loved by drunks, lunatics and marginal wastrels? An advert. You view a fleeting effulgent blip in your peripheral vision. Wednesday morning. You might as well follow the advice given by the interstitials as you compose the day’s PR slurry on your way to the office. The Metro here resembles Helsinki’s in some senses and as you glide from station to station you are aware of the subtle differences only in hindsight. Pelaw: you alight here for a spell as a crippling migraine fringe headache is inserting its needles into your eyes. The stress of the daily grind in and out of hours is hard to bear and you reach for the hipflask you realize is still at home. Happy days! Onward PR soldier marching as to war! South Shields is your last port of call as you finally tipple to the fact that you no longer have a job, a career, or indeed anything approaching any kind of income stream. You’ve been staring at a blank screen all the way from Sunderland, a redundant laptop black hole reflecting an unsure future. Happy days!