Excl story: Butchery Morning; House/Disco Mix - memories become memories; Poem - out there; It's All Art - a field; Create Immortality: Tales From The UniversE 66 - newsletter from mistbalmed June
An arcadia of imagination
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1. Kid Paradise’s Summer Beach Bar is here and is Vild and Vild. And Vild. And, VAIT a minute: VILD-ER than 30 seconds ago!!! And is hitting the hot months of 2024 like The Paradise Kid is born a trillion times each decade while exulting in a perma-mid-life non-and actual crisis
VUNDERBAR June is here and
what else
to do
than listen
LOUD
to Kid P’s tuuuuunnnnnnnneS???
‘memories become memories’
Kid Paradise In The Mix Is Handing It Out!!!
2. It is all art, baby
A field: what else
3. Poem: out there
somewhere out there
where the sun glows orange and can never stop
find me
4. Short Story
Butchery Morning
Thomas took 3 or 4 rib of beefs that weighed 5kg and got butchered from local cattle and were 5-ribbed and placed them in the glass display hollowed at the front of the counter and took the next order.
‘12 rashers of the smoked back bacon, please.’
The customer was a young woman with a baby in a carrier strapped to her front.
‘Of course, madam,’ Thomas said.
He lay a sheet of greaseproof paper on the counter and took prongs and started counting the rashers out. When he reached 12 he wrapped and placed the package on the scales and told the woman: ‘£8.56, please.’
She took a call on her phone and said, ‘hello’, and after a moment brought the away from her ear and scanned the display and then put the phone away.
‘My son’s school,’ she said.
‘Where does he go to?’
‘King’s Macc.’
‘A fee paying school.’
The woman nodded and Thomas presented the card machine and she moved her phone to it and the card machine buzzed and she withdrew her phone and Thomas was not finished.
Fact was, he was starting.
‘Fee paying schools are bad.’
‘Sorry?’
‘A waste .’
‘Waste?’
‘The money you pay them could be used for much better.’
The woman took notice of the butcher a first time. She came in here regular and this the first time the butcher ever spoke to her and he eyed her across the counter and what she saw in his eyes amused her.
‘Thanks for the bacon,’ she said.
She waited for the butcher to hand the package over. He brought the package across the counter and paused. ‘Everyone,’ he said, ‘should have the same kind, the same level, of education.
She smiled. ‘Should everyone have the same level of meat?’
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