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

Saturday, December 30, 2006

Down the plughole?

When they had finally crawled back through the never ending crush of traffic in total silence Charlie tipped Clifford and took his private mobile number. They had an agreement. He found a scrap of paper pushed under the door of his flat, lying on the coir mat. He turned it back and forth, this way and that. He scrutinised it. He studied it.


1 comment:

  1. That's it, then?

    Sic transit Lory and sundry?

    Not to mention Reg and Harry......