Sweet Agnes was what we used to call it, a plant divine in both thought and complexion for it gave us the power to conjure a woman unmatched whom we'd named Agnes. That was our passtime, sat in a circle with Sweet Agnes in hand, waiting till the sun rose once again.
Zipping the Fly
Finding himself busting for the toilet, the blind man strained to picture where he was. The shopping centre was familiar to him, or at least its original layout. The stairs seemed in the same positions, the doorways kept unmoved. What he hadn't accounted for was the disorientation of thoroughfare stalls.