Even during Maggie Thatchers rape of the working class,it did not quite seem this bad,or simply maybe i am now looking at those times through relaxed eyeballs as they drift further away with every sun rise.
The warmth of the sun plays a mellow mandolin,the foot fall becomes softer,hunky men in a trillion road works clodding up the snake slithering roads do not seam so harsh, so nasal,in the weary traffic.A young lad eager also for the sun removed his shirt,i once had a body like that flat stomach not a crisp of any hair in the chest..wowo i thought as my tiny red van urged it's self by.Oblivious to human obsessions...no perhaps to strong a word but then again maybe not.
