Crouching Sniper, Hidden Flagon
His trouser tips just hovering
a hesitant five inches
above the parquet floor,
not quite touching, even
he will stand too close,
and tuck his shirt into
I generally like to fantasise about the social behaviour of strangers- I find the gap between the exterior appearance and actual personality really fascinating, so I like to spot people who seem a little out of place and imagine how they got there.
Uhhh basically I saw his man in an elevator, and I bitchily wrote this little description of his tiny trousers. It's supposed to sound a little nasty? I've turned it into a poem because that's the module I'm struggling with right now. So that was my today.