to fuck as a pastime

the tart wasn’t that bad, said breadroll, bit juicy.
not bad no, said sponge, but i could do with a burger to bugger. a cheap sexual allegation.
sex you all, so there. the tart, now remembered. burgers. starve. starving. to starve. no way you put it will it make sound any more feeding. nothing. they had rations, stuff bought by passers-by, bars, triangular sandwich containers, bars, bags of crips. on the other side of the barrier, the vending machine operated by train people. they fuck. they think about it. discuss the option.

we try angst again fuck sake

will angst, said sponge, be an archetype for us, on our travel to a corner shop and the drivel that comes with it?
a descriptive term, but not in itself a category; angst should be considered a subgenre of other categories (narrative, character study, episodic, etc.). a shop may be filled with angst-ridden employees and patrons, but there’s usually a story behind it.

for fuck or for sake

fnnn fnnfnnfnn fnn fn fnnn.
did you close the drawer or did i, said blokkk “brutality” wokk.
you did, said breadroll, or did i? he wasn’t there anyway. and: slurrdshh; had butter all over him. one of those mornings of rushed sexuality.
he should have left a note, said blokkk, still letter-k-ayed.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.