MINI ROUNDABOUT
No! These are not industrial revolution pistons, grinding away, drowning out the work-songs.
MINI ROUNDABOUT
Nor are they utopian alloys, replacement hips, lubed up till they squelch, jogging, posture oh so correct, into the future.
MINI ROUNDABOUT
Maybe! It is entirely a mouth, with slightly painful teeth, chewing on toast — burnt bits scraped into the sink but still too crispy — in a kitchen full of shabby but inspiring contraptions: a spice rack made of magnetized old jars, a selection of hand whittled spoons on various odd-sized hooks, hanging baskets, a comforting smell.
MINI ROUNDABOUT
No handbrake. No engine. No car.
You are sitting in the rain burbling. Shouting:
MINI ROUNDABOUT
Into an “Uher 4000 RM.” One Half of Occult Hand (?!). A Chocolate Monk edition of 50 tapes.