Surfer Calvin wore bedraggled curls and lived in family rented quarters in a suburb of London. He smiled, generally, at all and sundry almost aimlessly with an air of casualty about him. Calvin embarked on distant travel adventures with an easy-going nature in his late twenties. The wind blew him over from here to there and there to here like a twig unattached.
Marcus, the alcoholic cyclist, joined the peloton of cyclists most week-ends for extensive rides. His mind was pure brilliance and placed him in the ilk of the elite. His heart, however, was out of synch. He hated the confinements of working in law, strapped to his chair and placed behind a mahogany desk. The long, tanned limbs urged him to stretch and to stretch beyond the office. His behaviour was tri-athletic and obsessive, his bills unpaid and mounting in surplus yellow files in a heap in the corner of his airy apartment. The large windows overlooking the Surrey City, opened to release cigarette smoke. Marcus encapsulated irony. Marcus showed the brilliance of a Master of the Mind and the inability of an infant within the realm of practicalities of life. His cycyling habits proved fitness whereas before and after his smoke inhalation worked antagonistically towards health destruction. His exceptional career niche was opposed by bankruptcy.
No comments:
Post a Comment