Bower Bird
My thoughts seem frozen mid sentence as the chill from a cool wind blows across the suburb where I live. They stuff their rolled-up fists deeper inside their pockets, walking at a brisk pace now to get the blood flowing. Goodness, its cold. Overhead a grey-templed Sydney sky is unmoved by anything and anybody, alot like a suburban Bank Manager toying with you as he feigns a reluctant loan approval, but gives you what you want and what he always knew he would... a variable or fixed headache... Sign in to see full entry.