The drink Imps have waited so so long.
Waiting at this street corner. It's their patch. Rain. Hail. Snow. Fog.
It has been their job. To stand, to wait, to be prepared.
As the fog drifted in, on this night, they heard merry making from the
nearby pub.
The 'Flap and Clapper' had a busy night, and now, out into the fog
stumbles the one, drinking the end of his pint that he hid as he staggered
past the heavy doors .... Steve - shopworker and keen angler ....
Tonight is their night.
Tonight, is NOT Steve's night.
Saturday, 18 July 2009
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hamstropolis prisoner
by aBowman
http://abowman.com/google-modules/
3 comments:
I know those guys only too well. That's why I only drink on my own, at home now.
Enchanting. It's like somebody hit a little magic over the head and then drug it into the street and beat it to death.
I imagined the caption being read by the bloke from the Guinness ad with the surfers and it was actually better than the ad.
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