And on some hotter than hell days, all you want to do is leave your job behind and run, run, run across a big field somewhere for as long as you can, which wouldn't be that long because of the tremendous sweat factor, the mild asthma which has mostly died away, and the allergies that would probably react to the flowers and grass on that field. Then you'd haunch forward with your hands on your thighs to catch your breath, husky and broken, ready for a tall glass of gin and tonic with a slice of lime thrown in for good measure (carefully squeezed before dropped in), your eyes a bit red and itchy, but free, free, free from the hideous demands of your other life. And everyday would be a novel. And every morning would be a sex farce. And every dinner would be a sumptuous movie about a restaurant, where the family's repressed passions explode in an array of gorgeous foods that titillate the audience seperated from them by a thin screen of light.
Comments (4)
Sorry honey but there a few of us that have a prior claim on the title of guttertrash. Maybe if you put another 4 or 5 years into it - but until then stand aside for the real queens. We are Guttertrash :-P (and you can read my blog for today(once I finish writing it) for my current claim to guttertrashdom.
Posted by dan | August 12, 2004 9:17 PM
Posted on August 12, 2004 21:17
Wow, I think we have a concept for our first film...
Posted by Stiffy | August 13, 2004 11:18 AM
Posted on August 13, 2004 11:18
Don't you mean rum, rum rum rum rum away?
Posted by michael | August 13, 2004 3:42 PM
Posted on August 13, 2004 15:42
I want rum. I want rum and I want to rum away from this place before I shoot that screaming baby.
Posted by ben | August 13, 2004 3:45 PM
Posted on August 13, 2004 15:45