Debate. Speech. Cards. Poker. Chips.
Gravy. Chicken. Bones. Bleached. Sand.
In suit and tie sitting in a chicken shop on an aluminium chair at a plastic table, sucking on a cigarette and playing poker on his phone. The smell of rotisserie chooks fills tiny little store that opens up to the night air in down-town Sydney. Chips and gravy adorned the table in front of him, though he didn’t even think to order anything. The radio was spewing up some kind of debate, but speaking up was against freedom of speech if it weren’t for the sake of money.
The girl behind the counter came around to clean around him, her bones poking through her skin and her hair bleached blonde with sand in her roots. She smiled warmly as she went wondering if she could play her cards right.