Ten:something on a woolly winter morning and the College Street crossing is crazy as ever.
You adjust your hood, double-stretch your sleeves and look to your right.
look to your left.
You are crossing the tram-line,
on the look out for any early buses that might appear out of nowhere and body massage you.
There are none.
In your head you let out a little sigh of relief.
You are mid way through your precarious road-crossing mission when
suddenly you find yourself surrounded by a PINK flock of SHEEP.
You tell yourself you are dreaming.
Yes you are probably still in your bed, dreaming of the journey to that Metaphysical Poetry class that you are going to miss.
Dont panic, these sheep are not real.
It's only a shamefully unimaginative dream-metaphor for all that sleepiness,
you reason and then
one of them mangy little sheep,
a PINK little sheep
headbutts you in the knee.
Aww:o
Okay.
This is no dream.
But you are going to miss that Metaphysical Poetry class anyway.
(College Street is one of those delightfully random places where you cross your roads with buses, trams, copy-wala-theyla-gari, Book-Vendor-Rickshaws, Band-Wallah's Ponies, and as I found out today, pink, hyper sheep. Apparently, the owners mark their flocks with one particular dye to claim proprietorship.
I wonder how the males of the flock feel about the colour choice. Err)
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