Escaping Jail With My Good Eye Closed ~ Drew Simpson |
The body in the pool belongs to the man from the studio
You know the one officer, he’s been on the news all week.
The cops inspect the crime scene tentatively, using the tips of their pens and the balls of their feet, like dancers on the deck of a sinking ship.
The crowd that has gathered holds its breath, fingers poking through the wire fence.
From the open balcony door five stories up comes a gull-like cry of alarm.
The crowd looks up to see the woman at the railing, clad in a sheet clenched to her chest, ashen faced, hair askew.
The cameras pan and strobe-capture a technicolour tableau - the verdict is handed down as the forensics team arrive to isolate the details.
You know the one officer, he’s been on the news all week.
The cops inspect the crime scene tentatively, using the tips of their pens and the balls of their feet, like dancers on the deck of a sinking ship.
The crowd that has gathered holds its breath, fingers poking through the wire fence.
From the open balcony door five stories up comes a gull-like cry of alarm.
The crowd looks up to see the woman at the railing, clad in a sheet clenched to her chest, ashen faced, hair askew.
The cameras pan and strobe-capture a technicolour tableau - the verdict is handed down as the forensics team arrive to isolate the details.
Tales for an attention deficit world
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