You may have noticed a few pieces of fiction appear at strange times of day on 35mmc recently. Quite possibly you wondered what the hell they were. I’d like to talk a little about the protagonist, the Pipes Man, and how these things came about.
As was often the case, the Pipes Man had spent most of the morning smoking and creeping around places he probably shouldn’t be. However, it was rare he would be so well rewarded.
‘Can I take your picture?’ He had been thinking, recently, to try to be a better person. To approach and engage, rather than sneak and snatch at his shots. This was Proper Etiquette, and at heart he was an old school gent. Well today it was time and here was a rare opportunity, not only for …
The Pipes Man was fucking born to do it. The world’s forgotten boy; king of doing it. He just wasn’t doing it right now, and there wasn’t much to him aside. He was a flightless hawk. Or a toad that don’t hop.
‘That,’ the woman said. ‘Is absurd.’
She had looked alright from the back, with her braids and denim, but once she had turned around the Pipes Man immediately regretted approaching. Her face was cold and alien but worse still, he had clocked the red badge.
‘How can you get anything sharp with that thing?’ she asked.
