Unseen eyes, uneyed scenes. There are eyes everywhere. The eyes have it. The non-eyes have not. And our little light flickers bravely in the dark for the time being. Everybody needs to know their place in the food chain and act accordingly. Did I say food chain? I meant life in general. Though you will be eaten, regardless of what you say or do. Those racked with unhealthy seasonal guilt may not taste particularly good, it sours the blood apparently.
Strange night time events are commonplace around here; Liberal Democrats smashing the Police Station windows, English tourists flocking to the sewage outfall, young fascists driving recklessly on Chinese electric mopeds, drunks shouting at invisible dogs, bus (stop) wankers and the odd alien abduction from the Co-op car park.
But as it's the season of lights, the Council have erected Christmas flickering things all across the way. The prime contractor was a firm aptly named Marx Bros. A festooning of temporary traffic lights, redundant street furniture and assorted pavement trip hazards are awaiting all the regular and unsuspecting funeral attendees. All as a practical means of spreading joy and reducing crime as we bask in the wind generated glow of flashing neon that scares both demons and folks prone to epilepsy.
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