The Mount Doom-like sunrise seeped and bled its way into the eastern sky.
Overhead, a jet from one of Gatwick’s fleets climbed to meet the burgeoning pinks, winking and flashing from its extremities. Silently shedding the slipknots of gravity, its silver belly caught the reflected reds so that, perversely, it looked like the heatshield of a returning spacecraft, as it jinked right, flying off to wherever..
I'd've liked to have been aboard. Maybe John Peel's soul was? What I would have done to share some quality time with that champion of music.
# posted by Mr.D. @ 8:35 AM
Drinking and Driving (but clearly not simultaneously)
