Polo

I love old cars. This one was a gnarled beast with a deep grunt. Being able to hear and feel the click and clack of the mechanics beneath me was exhilarating. My body absorbed the mounds and caves of the road knocking me from my puffy eyed day dream. We pulled in for a quick smoke at a place near nowhere. In front were fields of new crops pretending to be the ocean. The fierce wind lashed at the blades and formed rolling waves and silver licks. I pointed it out and was surprised at a response. Maybe I'm not the only one to notice all things great and insignificant. "Right. Let's go." Back on the road, Ross stormed across the tarmac changing the never ending rape seed to a yellow stream in the corners of my eyes. The seatbelt bruised my hip and squeezed the all the air out of me. She was an old maid but had aged well. She had been prodded and poked to fulfil the desires of a young man. This was a secret while stationary. She didn't look like much. Her shell unfettered and intact. A shell no stronger than a sardine tin. The speakers were no match for her husky tone.

The boys were looking for a place to carry out their experiment. They had some outdoor seeds and for lack of other things to do on a windy bank holiday, made an afternoon of looking for a spot to plant them. Just inside the edge of a reasonably sized collective of trees I stumbled upon an odd scene. A striking one at the least. A strewn mess of belongings. Amongst other things was a pair of platform stiletto sandals, a black G-string, a black polyester dress, unfinished crosswords, used condoms and their wrappers, a car tyre and a book called Rise of the foot soldier. What a sight. In the midst of farmers fields and walking trails was this seedy little hide out. I had only two thoughts. What did this girl wear home? And why didn't I have a camera with me?