By Alex Rankin
People are behaving oddly today. There was a guy collecting fag butts (standard) then a woman who kept dropping her receipts. After that I saw a man who picked up nothing at all. He looked at the centimetre of air between his thumb and forefinger and then bit down on it. Something about his expression made me imagine he imagined it was a Smoky Bacon crisp.
Maybe tomorrow, they will all be following some other abnormal routine or maybe there won’t be anyone out there at all. Perhaps, there will be nothing but sky beyond the windowsill.
“I write in the hope of making a connection with someone.” – the writer