After working all night giving out more meds and blankets than really saving any lives I find cigarettes and co amoxiclav in the A&E toilets where the addicts have been shooting up moments after we attempt to fix them.

My septic man who thinks he’s in Iran is right about life when he pulls out his fully inflated catheter then remarks:
‘Ladies and gentlemen,
There will be a fifteen minute intermission,
After which the merriment continues.’

In McDonalds, a gender-fluid self lets their giant penis dangle from blue boiler suit to Wellington boots whilst chatting to the cashier about something as ordinary as council tax.

Another workday. Another commute.

The sun shines sideways as the aged sprinter struggles up Yorkshire slopes, speeding home to Sheffield.

Tanked up noisy men drink their Saturday away on way to Wakefield, making more noise than rest of carriage combined.

Somehow I find stillness in the chaos of this world.

Tomorrow we begin again.

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