An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Sunday, January 21, 2007


Charlie roused himself from his lustful reverie and forced his eyes open. He poured himself a mugful of coffee and lit another cigarette. He scratched behind his left ear with the long, shaped, thumbnail on his left hand. He put his cigarette to rest in the clean ashtray and steepled his hands before his mouth before waving the left dismissively and raising his eyebrows. "I'm sorry guys - you'll have to work the rest out for yourselves - from the spiral - I just can't be arsed any more." He ground out what was left of the cigarette, dusted some ash from his thumb, stood up, adjusted his shirt and strode out of the office.

_______________________THE END (or is it?)___________________________

1 comment:

  1. Dunno!

    But then I'm none the wiser in any event.

    Is the spiral code for 'we've been screwed'?

    Anyway, I'm off to consult the coracle.