Bob

Bob

Bob? Bob? That’s the best you could come up with?

Where’s the finesse? Where’s the spirit that engulfed you in order to come up with that?

Where’s the part of you that burned on the spoon? Where’s the bit that was injected into your pupil?

Where’s the moment when the heart stops, the hairs fall, the muscles all relax and a pure flow (or is it an exertion?) spells from your lowest hole?

For you, it is a single moment that you can forget about, and dismiss, and put on your CV.

For me it was different – this is my final moment, my storm before the sixth foot drop.

This is my boiling spoon, my lucky eye-juice needle, my last clot.

This is Scott.

[In another room, the world stopped slowly turning, and nobody noticed.]

– Scott Sandwich

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