Sitting up front on the bus I wave as we roll past The House of Ours . . .
The House of Ours shakes in wary response; in agony trying desperately to spit you from its bowels, swearing it senses you hiding inside, but no, you are long gone before. The House of Ours instead senses a wee dog named Alice, a wee dog waiting for you, scratching the walls and pissing on the floor in terrible loneliness, frantically, desperately missing you. The House of Ours is busy heaving and moving, creaking and cracking, windows smash and the roof caves in . . . Alice escapes, tasting freedom, feeling panic as she runs down Tiny Street towards you, she knows where you go, she is hungry for love. YOU BEST BE WAVING A BISCUIT FOR HER !!!
Bears Rebellion 17/10/14