Half an hour into dumb crambo,
Simon notices the warning light
is blinking. He can barely hear the klaxons
through his port-fug and the strains
of Paul McCartney. Alice is dead up
for getting off with him though, and so
he shrugs it off, tossing his ignition keys
into the empty punchbowl, where they jangle
like sleigh bells.
Radar blips edge across a world map.
Simon pretends that one is Santa.
No comments:
Post a Comment