Dantes Transport Cafe
So there's me and this zombie, right? Nuthink more to say than that. We was in this transport cafe, or wot you'd call a transport cafe 'cept it was more of a non-transport cafe, the only punters being me and the undead. I say me and the undead, 'cept it seems more like manners to say 'the undead and I'. Well thats not me, see? I'm rough as they come I am. Not as rough as the zombie though. 'is eye had just fallen in me cuppa tea.
So as I wos saying, we was sat in this non-transport cafe, place of the dead n doomed it was, kinda like that purgatory 'cept there was no telly on. None of that daytime muck. Me and the zombie, we'd been havin' kinduva chat we had. We'd covered the essentials all about the lottery and the fairness, the royalty and the scariness, and the Government and the lariness.
That left the weather, and I don't mind telling you I wos feelin' a bit uncomfortable. See, the issue with the weather wos it wasn't particular. Now if you've not been in purgatory and you've enjoyed ol' blightys weather you'll know there's a wealth o' matter and importance in the weather, rain and snow, Micheal Fish, you could talk for days.
But not here no no. Here it was all soddin' grey. Grey grey, turnstile grey.
I sez turnstile but I wos gonna say zombie flesh grey. I didn't want to hurt 'is feelings is all, right?
Brought up proper I was.
So, me and the zombie kinda look at each other, and I can tell by looking in his eye wot was remainin that he was lookin me in my eye, and we was both trying to figure out just how to start.
'It's grey innit.' I says to him.
'Phrrrrrrrrnnnmph.' He says, being a zombie.
richard cookson ©2003