England Ahoy
Inside the woman was bent over a vat of the bubble-and-spit all gnome like, a gnomey, gnomey gnome. The feller, the Chinese, with the big smile, his wrinkles were smooth. Like the floor, shining at him, the rush streaming out of it, through the soles of his shoes, his socks, his feet up and up, a loose weave python of sparklers, up some more, then seamless on and on. Walter smiled back right through the colours of infinite pattern.
By John Barker.