The Tangerine Sock

I rolled into the room 15 minutes late and got a frosty look off the Eastern European woman who was leading the class. My coat came off noisy and my bag unzipped slowly so it sounded like a long creaky trump. Having consumed a Crunchie bar and then a packet of extra hot Monster Munch on the way in, my mouth tasted a bit grim. The crunchie would have been fine and the chocolate tasted good, in Europe they have chocolate for breakfast all the time. The crisps however left a sordid taste on my chops-it had been a bad move to scoff the corn snacks because now my mouth and fingers smelt of the spicy flavouring. I could detect the residue left on my fingertips every time I covered my mouth with my hands to stop the tangy aroma from escaping into the room and revealing my secret breakfast. Scared to look I could imagine the orangey stains on my mits from the caustic chemical zest. I looked like a rollie smoker with a tobacco stained index finger. I guiltily sat a seat away from my nearest fellow scholar.
Sat in my lesson the Monster Munch is going stale in my mouth, it tastes awful-oh for a sip of something cleansing. I hope we don’t have to do any group discussion or else I’ll have to explain the confectionary stench about my person. My nose passage is all dry and it’s not very pleasant to breath through it, but of course I can’t breathe through my mouth. That would be like pumping some kind of awful bellows.

My head feels still scrambled from sleep and although the walk up the hill woke me, I’m left with the remnants of my dreams. Just a few bits and bobs floating around that I can’t put my finger on, there isn’t any context to any of them, just a vague picture. Loading a machine gun I can remember the bullets, in some kind of bungalow I think I’m filming porn. Most clear is a big tall building under construction with a massive white ocean liner on top of it, it is improbably placed but I don’t mind. The ship is resting on two parallel rails like train tracks but with a slight curve to them like a rocking horse. The ship starts to slowly skate left to right on these rails which do not extend very far either end of the boat. The immense craft builds up momentum and all the while I’m quite understanding about the whole thing as a viable aspect of the construction process. But then inevitably the ship flies off the end of the rails and crashes to the bottom of the building, it knocks the half finished skyscraper to the ground, this in turn knocks into the Eiffel Tower standing next to it which too snaps in half. It all lands on top of a primary school and I run over with a first aid box but everyone’s ok. Thank goodness for that but I’m still sat in my class. That’s just a little picture afloat in my crusty head. It’s really not a pleasant experience listening to this woman go on about something I don’t understand while these little snippets of dreams are still trying to hold my attention. Last week I sat in this class in such an unfortunate spot as to be able to see the teacher’s tit when she leaned forward to make a remark (she was perched rather jauntily on a table corner), it looked like a tangerine in a beige sock.