This blog is full of Wee Fictions (and poetry, too)
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Bite To Eat
A clock is screwed to the wall behind her. The hands seem to be frozen in place. I am wondering how long she can keep up the inane conversation. The batter, she informs me, is 'crispy', the fish 'succulent'. I feel myself nodding in agreement when what I really want to do is throw my plate through the window.