Protruding concrete fortifications stand in place of my forgotten childhood neighbourhood. Stone, brick and mortar walk (amble-extended gait) around the urban environ. I picture a robust old man, confined to an altogether inflexible matter (material-makeup texture) of self. The idea is lucid in my brain but seems ungraspable through these characters currently.
Yet another slice of thinking (confining a subject matter) lost to the innumerable eddies and swirls in the river. The current has been strong recently, I feel it pulling me even now. Especially now. The concrete fortification is not yet very well rounded off (polished, glistened, made-fancy/fancied up). Maybe they will get around to it eventually.
“The Banisters have just installed some fancy new railings darling! Come quickly and see. Oh how they shine, oh how they gleam! My my, what luck we have found in living next door to the mighty Banisters, our wealthy neighbours.”
(The Banisters are experiencing crippling debt)
Beep. Beep. Beep. I press the little button that opens the microwave door and a soft ‘click’ follows the aggressive announcement of completion. Bending down my back clicks and I can feel the stiffness that is already three days old. At least I am giving my body what it needs I think as I reach my unmitted (without mitt) hand into the steamy recesses of the microwave to retrieve my frothy noodles. Mmm chicken again, the thought comes hurtling to my pleasure centre as the smell of my meal reminds me of the past few days; eating nothing but chicken flavoured two-minute noodles. I am on this train for a good time not a long time, that’s for sure. The bowl is sitting warmly in my hands.
Something glints in my periphery, something silvery. Some might even say the glint exhibited a chrome undertone. Who am I to say? I am no banister expert, I merely look at them when they are reflecting at me. You could find yourself getting lost in those silver posts. A strange design choice but hey, to each their own I suppose.
The warmth is building to an uncomfortable heat. My hands don’t feel much but they still feel some. I lower the steaming bowl onto the chopping board to readjust my angle. If there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that the rim is always slightly cooler.