X drifted into a 4G signal emanating from a localised Huawei telephone…
X loiters next to the alt-modern thank you sign in the newly laid car park
Piped in loungy Starbucks music steals Yo La Tengo riffs evoking mythical summer days that never happened.
A phone scroll reveals ‘test and trace exposed.’
Are you staying in? Are you OK to do track and trace?
I spill my drink on the large round table – all of it. Lake Latte. Tall.
I gaze out from an elevated position in search of the virtual bridge.
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The ghosts of Little Chef past drifted around the new Starbucks cafe at Barnetby Interchange.
A perpetual drone from the A180 riviera echoed along the mundane stretch of unremarkable tarmac.
It tuned into a couple passing under the bridge of grey bathed in Audi pride.
Blue masks. Alcoholic cologne. Jaded drumbeats.
‘Neither of us are great conversationalists.’ Another she said to another he.
Distortion.
It tuned out, turning it’s attention to the residual sound emanating from a lost wheel trim gleaming in the late summer sun.
