The lift and strain of traffic as it slides br down cool November streets. br A hustle and bustle, hurly-burly, ingested br kind of day. br A distinct flavour of of washing soap br photoed in my mind. br br Movement to the left, movement br to the right. Tossing my arm out br like a military no-mind I stomp br through the blaze of the grey. br br 'I will not be shouted at! br I will not be ignored' br br Dead brown grass blowing like br spiders weaving insect repellent br parading on the ground. br The sound of shuffling feet echoes br like ice picks in my ears. br Floating in mid-sentence, I only br speak when I am inclined. br br 'I'm no longer inclined to want br to share with you. br I am no longer interested br in conforming to the norm.' br br Saws are buzzing angrily as br they work to take the trees away. br Flies hide like lepers in the br dung hills of their alarm. br November came complete br with a whimper, a strangling br sort of no nonsense vowels. br br Inside, the cough dropp melts as br it slides down my throat. br I'm prisoner and jailer, br executioner and saviour. br br 'I'm not to be hurt. br I'm not to be insulted.' br br Closing coat around emancipation. br Shutting mind to ulterior motives. br Outside the frolicsome emptiness br motivates another crowd to survive.br br Chris G.