The magpie had gone AWOL. It had given no response to the cowboy’s call to arms. The scarecrow said he didn’t know where it was. They had had a falling out. An argument about marmite. No, the scarecrow said, it did not involve crumpets. The scarecrow wouldn’t elaborate, so the cowboy turned his attention elsewhere.
He visited the magpie’s nest, climbing high into the tree. There was no sign of recent habitation, just a plastic toy machine gun. The cowboy frowned and looked towards the sun. It glowed red, low down in the sky. It would be dark soon.
The cowboy returned from his holidays intact. He hit up the old members of the band and told them to get their shit together. The scarecrow told his boss at the museum to go suck it and threw his name badge to the ground and left. He returned four minutes later to apologise, having realised that he still needed a day job, and that he actually liked working in the museum. His boss told him not to worry. The scarecrow picked up his name badge from the ground, fixed it in place and returned to his duties.
Cowboy met a girl. She gave him a new pot of ink. He held it up and looked at the liquid through the glass, eye up close. He thought about drinking it, and where he had left his pen. He would write some new words. Quiet ones. Then loud ones.
The cowboy walks into his living room. It is sparse and white. Someone has removed all his furniture. Louise Wener is standing in the far corner staring at him. He slowly backs away into the hall. He closes the door. He remains there, unsure of what to do.
Cowboy shakes his head.
The sky is grey & mumbling.
Have you got any sandwiches?” said Ringo.
I apologised and said that I didn’t.
“Not any cheese and pickle?”
I shook my head.
I asked how they came to be on the boat to Hades.
“Got any sandwiches?” said John, raising his voice as if I were hard of hearing.
They exchanged glances and rolled their eyes.
It was funny, I said, all four of them here at once.
Paul leaned forward and said slowly, “Do… you… have… any… sandwiches?”
I said that I hadn’t packed any sandwiches.
I looked away and out over the sea. There was no sound at all.
“You don’t, by any chance, have any sandwiches, do you?” said George.
Not saying anything, I walked further along the deck. When I was fifty or so paces away, I looked back. They sat there staring at me.
I first saw the dog running down the street alongside the bus. He looked ecstatic to be running beside his big wheeled friend. It was raining and it took me a moment to realise that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was attached to a lead, whose handle was trapped in the door of the bus. As the bus passed me, I saw through the door that the handle of the lead was held by the dog’s owner. Her hand was pressed against the glass panel. She stared at the dog, her face creased like a potato sack in distress. The dog was having the best time of his life.
- Tuesday Morning Prose
I wrote this in twenty minutes because there was a storm last night
I once knew a man who couldn’t keep anything he made using...
- Preview of the New Single
You can have a listen to the first Looper single from the new album on Beats Per Minute today: