Saturday, 5 May 2007


Crisp breakfast bread crust crumbled onto his neatly pressed chocolate-striped shirt and tumbled onto his limited edition style 0N5-sepia trousers. Carelessly flicked onto the mahogany and teak custom side table they were done paying for. ("It looks so elegant when burnt ochre evening light fills the room," she said.) Blown onto the pale terracotta floor till they landed like floating dust spots beside nearly invisible coffee stains on the earthy carpet….

Who was he kidding. The bread was burnt, and it was all just brown and that’s all he was. Brown. What was ever good enough to be a colour.

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