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@Squoocher
forgive my impudence, but this bike was once a black labrador, a much loved family pet! A little greedy; the fat silly thing, georgy porgy we called him or porger, ate a rotted mouse, one dad had put to sleep with bare right foot, but not buried deep between greenhouse and fence. it was drizzly, the sort of evening cats love, and he was taping choral evensong on maxell 60 and ready to turn over during prayers when sambi meaowed and he'd looked up, saw nothing but curtain but knew that low persistent death call and placed down the wine from tea, reached under armchair and finding not slippers didn't called out to Edith but off came socks, and already there were thoughts of wet concrete, of sudden dark cold. john as an animal... snails, he thought. crunch. he stopped as he keyed backdoor, and licked lips, he wanted the night. wanted to slide across the lawn and dive into the dark wet privet, wanted to become a bike posted by charlesreza on page 678 of the bike porn thread twenty three years later, a bike he already he knew would sum up that sodden greasy evening: synthesise all things black dog and slug, all things dark and wet. all things dead and cold... and now he knew peace, felt the certainty of edith's embrace, her wet tongue, her eager breath, her dark corners.