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Four cleanly broken ribs clack in time with the ceiling fan.

Heavy dog pads to the end of a diving board, lifts its nose to the smoke.

Postcard from Denmark in one mitten. Swabs and champagne in the other.

Surgeon realises it’s pronounced “a-rye”.

Volunteers pull apart earthquake rubble, grimace at the smell of stale fart.

On the frozen running track, two horses collide.

The speaker straightened his woolen tie and coughed. This was the 49th and last.

“Good afternoon.

In the 1994 Los Angeles Marathon the veteran marathon runner Paul Pilkington was paid to set a fast pace then drop out. When the elite athletes failed to follow his pace, Paul kept going, ultimately winning $27,000 and a new Mercedes”.

He removed the microphone from the stand.

“That is the end of my talk”.

The speaker leaned into the fire exit bar and walked out into the grey light whistling.

Two crap Italians
crap at life
gesture at
two unhappy backing singers
by a pebble dash church.

These women
are crap as well
They approach the men
they have an honest conversation
pick up the damp invitations together.
A car arrives.

Everything improves.