Exercise 3: Marvell-ous First Line

September 2, 2008

“Had much in the way of wild sex recently?” Gary asked after a silence that had lasted so long governments had fallen. We were sat under an ash tree on a birdshit-splashed bench on the South Bank, Gary and me and Lady Godiva; we’d been there a while, long enough to get hungry and thirsty and cold. But we had each other. World peace was still a twinkle in a madman’s eye, poverty had become its own ideology and was beating capitalism hands down. Enough wine was produced in one year in Europe and Australia to keep the whole world anaesthetised for six months. And war was imminent, always, somewhere, and more importantly the Royal Family had flu. Time had become irrelevant. This was the way the world was, this was the way life was. Coyness was something we could no longer afford. Lady Godiva licked her crotch and growled at a passing cat. “Were there any free doughnuts going at the Point today?” “No, not today, Gary.” Crime was fast becoming a tempting alternative.

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