Parallax. Pa-ra… Out loud he rolled it around his mouth: ‘Pawallax. Pawa-ra-llax.’ Something about lines, important to upright composition. Or getting everything in the right place. The Pipes Man was barely upright and was not in the right place, but at least he had his good mate Captain Morgan along for support and a smoke to keep the system buzzing.
When thoughts grow dull and the eye calcifies, a little lubrication is required to keep the pipes from stiffening. With sticky valves he was having to puff harder which pushed the bolts sharply into his sides and arsed up his focus, though it wasn’t just his aim that was off.
The Pipes Man limbered up to the corrugated barrier with wild eyes. What lay behind may be a fragment of what he had long left behind, but he pressed forward into it regardless, scraping his gut painfully as he took the fence. Patches of green broke the dust and clay, a solitary crow flew up to …
Is a ‘strong sense of listlessness’ even a thing? The Pipes Man was distracted. His day-to-day, the sustenance stuff, the things that objectively matter were slipping. ‘Just fucking get it. Then you don’t have to think about getting it anymore,’ said Gadget. There was no counter-argument. 6am outside a hole-in-the-wall, the Pipes Man considered the …
Should he try to meet her glazed gaze through the glass? The girl had no expression. That could just be the vibe here, but it was boring; he could anger her by showing his intention, then capture her emotion for his purpose.
