What happened in the carriage - b and l join in. Drawing could be b and l https://www.instagram.com/p/CHGFoO-n073/?igshid=d2jwmxpz1ite
Furthur adventures across the sea - Upon reaching that lovely green land they boarded a night train heading South. Finding a couple of seats in the saloon car they joined a great company there. As the train rattled and rocked its way down the quickening night coast line, the sky grew a sunset of orange and green tinged with the amber of lights from the receding town, and the windows reflected back the faces and bodies of the crowded carriage. Soon the company began to warm up and proceeded with the ordering of the little bottles of the dark beer with the creamy frothy foam. L and B were no laggers in this task. The sound in the saloon grew. The bottles increased and the empties began to fill the little Formica topped folding tables. A rolling wave of feeling gradually imparted its charms upon the great company there. Composed mainly of men, some women and the occasional child, they smoked the tipped cigarettes, drank from the bottles and the little plastic cups. The air thicker with the pungent smoke, and louder with the animated chatter of the voices, who in the main were set resolutely in their unity of purpose i.e. namely: the adventure of the night, the rain beating upon the steamy windows, the clank of the bottles, the increase in the decibels, the rocking into the night, the rolling of the company, the chatter, the smoke, the emphasis on the ideas being explained, then: the singing of the songs along with the transistor radio, the beautiful melody and blending of the voices in clever harmony, the increasing uproar rising, rising always moving along and raising semitone by semitone in pitch until at the apogee thus: the whole carriage singing together and swaying in their roistering and charming venture on the puff-puff as it sidled its way through the little green fields, now dark as pitch, and the great green foamy spumy sea to the side and rocky shoreline the caroming waves and lighthouses sheep walls cottages villages small towns occasional cars with the headlights attached painting in the rainy air. Bron sang with the others. Leonardo sang too, and as the din rose and the carriage warmed he took off his great sheepskin coat, rolled his sleeves and ordered more bottles. B smoked furiously and gloriously the ciggies. Empty packets lay strewn around with the bottles. She folded the silver paper inner wrappers into small surreal shapes and placed them in the outer cellophane wrappers like miniature sculptures within mini-vitrines. The number of them grew on their table top. They sang ‘and when I come home to you, I find the things that you do, will make me feel all right! When I’m home everything seems to be righ-t, right!’ B turned with a quizzical expression to Leo, shouting above the din, ‘kinopfia? Snapdragon? Or is it lilacs and crocuses?’ ‘We are the lily of the valley, carnation and the lupins all in one night’ he replied, and pressed his great bony nose to the steamed window, creating an imprint there. Later they arrived in the morning town station. Disembarking they hurried to their bed and breakfast and lay upon the springy mattress with the ornamental and pink spreads beside the little side tables and the little reading lamps to fall into coma and a snoring sleep fit for kings and queens and knights and artists. Dreaming deeply they walked past great blue stones, monoliths covered in runes. Mossy dells with gnarled bog oak and silver birch. Streams with clover, celandine and buttercups. A transparent white cat licked its paw and fished for minnows in a pool. A chaffinch flew in slow motion across the bedroom through the dusty sunlight the curtains billowed the tap of twigs on the window and the ornate iron doorstop with the lambs and clouds. They slept on with the unflinching steadiness of sculptures and breathed with a bovine breath in the morning fields. Sent from my spyphone
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