I couldn’t swim in the front page waters of the Daily Expression.
A cleaner wipes the sills as a flurry of admin workers filed into The Innovation Centre car park.
Europarc fades out as Brexit sinks into the shores of tar.
She sips upon harsh tobacco.
A black seagull half-arsedly cackles above.
A hoover descends another staircase.
The primacy of profit reverses.
The man in black exits gently holding a white cardboard box.
A crumpled tenner.
Statutory rights buried.