3. Persephone Skink
Once more we find ourselves in the Salisbury, the pub that knows nothing of regular hours and rejects licensing regulations.
Sat alone at the end of the bar awaiting the arrival of her beau Lemuel Cullen is the statuesque Persephone Skink.
Persephone is a hard working lady of 30 years and is strong of mind and body. Dressed in black boots, black flowing skirt, black basque (despite the weather) and black fishnet, fingerless gloves, her ruby lips suck a whisky highball through a straw (black).
By day Persephone is a high school teacher but in order to afford the good things in life like food and rent she also moonlights as a receptionist in a well-known Manchester massage parlour.
Although she gets on well with Lemmy and considers him one of the better frogs she has kissed, there is no prospect of marriage. She couldn't bear to combine their surnames. Furthermore she always dreamt of marrying a man with a title. Maybe an Earl. Or an OBE at the very least. Or both. Yes, she is holding out for an earlobe.
Through the throng of he-males and she-males she spies the fat bloke from the quiz machine perched on his barstool at the other corner of the bar. She considers going over to initiate conversation but notes he appears to be asleep. Again. And has probably soiled himself. Again.
So Persephone waits. And waits. And sighs.
Sat alone at the end of the bar awaiting the arrival of her beau Lemuel Cullen is the statuesque Persephone Skink.
Persephone is a hard working lady of 30 years and is strong of mind and body. Dressed in black boots, black flowing skirt, black basque (despite the weather) and black fishnet, fingerless gloves, her ruby lips suck a whisky highball through a straw (black).
By day Persephone is a high school teacher but in order to afford the good things in life like food and rent she also moonlights as a receptionist in a well-known Manchester massage parlour.
Although she gets on well with Lemmy and considers him one of the better frogs she has kissed, there is no prospect of marriage. She couldn't bear to combine their surnames. Furthermore she always dreamt of marrying a man with a title. Maybe an Earl. Or an OBE at the very least. Or both. Yes, she is holding out for an earlobe.
Through the throng of he-males and she-males she spies the fat bloke from the quiz machine perched on his barstool at the other corner of the bar. She considers going over to initiate conversation but notes he appears to be asleep. Again. And has probably soiled himself. Again.
So Persephone waits. And waits. And sighs.
Comments
Post a Comment