That is my space

Shopping centre car parks are a great place to go and write. They used to be better when you were truly severed from the internet out there in the middle of an acre or ten of tarmac. But since the advent of the smartphone and the ability to tether the old laptop to it and its 4Gness, it takes real commitment to not just “check one fact out quickly” and end up watching F1 crashes from the 1960s for two hours.

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“The Walking Dead of the Rings”


“I fucking hate Thursday mornings.”
Philip looked up from his phone in the back seat of the cab. “What’s that?” They had come twelve miles from his house and these were the first words the taxi driver had uttered. He knew it was too good to be true, having a driver take him all the way to the office without any attempts at inane banter. And now, with less than half a mile to go, this fella has to open his cakehole.
“I said I hate Thursday mornings.”
Against his better judgement, Philip heard himself taking the bait. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“The Walking Dead.”
“Lost interest after Season 2, mate.”
“Not the TV show,” said the driver. “The bleedin’ junkies. Look at the state of them.”

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