'Red Chilli' by Jack Burston

In presence are the following:

Tee
Elle

Excellent, but I've got to leave along the line and there are a few distractions in here, games console, chatter and bad jokes. Little food in the cupboard, but bean chilli becomes a possibility when I spot a few kidney and pinto beans, chillies and chopped tomatoes: barely enough though. I experiment with keepy-ups and a few swings around the tree in the falling. I await the gate that the landlord promised several months ago. I question the purpose of the Droop Inn opposite.

And red as it isn't after the events of Blue Sunday, the twitches through the morning and the itchy nose in memory of vodka and soda. It isn't red anymore, just pale to tanned, settling for the simple and the constant, despite need for the complicated and the diminishing. No chilli, just toast and vegetable oil.