Seven Hundred Cigarettes

Marian: Where did yxou leave that plume of Fluoro hair? Petulia: Escape

Jitters and spins about, The search light sets a frenetic pace. Yxou sweeps his hair from his face.

Seven hundred cigarettes, He brushes his hand through a shock of red Brandished menacingly on his head.

Red strands clump down on ceramic. The tinny buzz is drowned by the sound: Men’s boots, dogs barking all around.

Pause to check the job is done In flashes of light from under the door. WOAH WOAH. Ferocious sounds outside The room with the fluoro hair strewn floor.