While In Plymouth
The song again shifted through my mind. The silent dark creatures made a rabbit hole in my brain, and are burrowing themselves down in it. The sun has finally peeped out at me through the fairy doves in my head, while the oceans of rushing water in an invisible visit bring cars past me and people that carry these ridiculous poodles in little side purses. Well I suppose the poodles are not the ridiculous ones, but the purses. These funny orange and green war suits, hats with plumes in them, and eyes that shine with pride at these monstrosities . . .
Shame upon these men and women, how dare they treat Plymouth with such a terrible distracting attitude of ignorance. An old historical town such as this.
I like to give myself a secret smile which is not meant for anyone, save for the impressive whip of my pen. But I'll tuck it silently at my side, there's a good girl. No one must needs see what I have done, as I move my hand with mint pepper in its pinky grasp, along the page. Here, sucking on my mints in their delicate, refined beauty- and I must shake my head at the women who sit beside me, speaking about pregnancies and such happy tidings-
Well this is the time, isn't it.
Plymouth is altogether too crowded as I sit here sucking my mints, my tea thrumming through me like a smoothly warm music-
Well, I was going to flick my pen up, impressively showing my skill in finding out the motives of these people touring the old city, priding myself on my secrets which although must peeve these-
well, it's a moot point. They got the better of me and I'm leaving.