nakers trudged sadly through the streets of wigan, his left leg dragging lamely behind the other.
his mind a blank turmoil of inner regrets and pain. questions bubbling unbidden from the darkest recesses of his mind. who was he? what was he here for? why was he in wigan? why did nobody else share his love for chumba-wumba? he lashed out, attempting to kick a stone but only succeeding in losing his balance. the stone was still firmly in place, mocking him with it's glittering brilliance in the glow of the street lamp.
"haha! look at the bent spastic!" came the harsh yet high pitched voice of a child. nakers turned to look at a group of kids, all laughing at him. "oi mister! catch!" one child shouted, and threw a half drunk can of coke at him. nakers flailed at the fizzy missile but missed completely, the can smacking him on the head and soaking him in cold brown liquid. "hahaha! what a bent spastic!" the child called out, his companions picking up the chant. nakers turned and hobbled away, the words bent spastic ringing around his bulbous head.
( mark morrisons prison shoes I love Willie, Tue 13 Nov 2012, 13:08, 1 reply, 13 years ago)

Hahahahaha
*clicks*
( Bartleby A dead man on vacation, Tue 13 Nov 2012, 13:49, Reply)