When life hands you a Victorian town, make a uselessly detailed hand grenade that looks like a clockwork lemon.
Criminal that it’s not in the guidebooks.
Psycho Killer.
I confess, I’m guilty of enjoying this.
“There’s plenty of poetry in the ring, Fink.”
Fine, if you want to get philosophical about it.
Staring at the sea, staring at the sand.
Student housing, Hyde Street, Dunedin.
The question is not so much why, but how.
I have watched the sun rise on an ancient Moorish city, heard the May Day marching of Londoners, and seen the roosting of white doves in Teapotland. What more will thrill my weary traveler’s soul?
All you city folk will get your digits plum gnawed off.
The paradox of meaning.
This is your life on toast.
Picture shown indicative only.