sense clarification

I went out for an evening stroll. It had been a long day gardening and it really told. I had pushed a load of chaff and moved ten barrows of scrub. I had dug one hundred pounds of stone paving. It was severe. On my stroll I came across some areas that were well facilitated. They had lawns. They had railings. I saw a foot scraper. There was a house that was obvious and a house that was not. There were small hatchback cars. There were large saloon cars. There were topiary. Shaped trees. You know, all that shit.

I even saw a helicopter in someones back garden. It was that kind of place. A well provided for land. Indeed. There was little in the way of waste garbage around. I scooted down a path under some large beech trees. It was damp. And wet. I contemplated the drips on the ends of the branches as I went. Nice. Refreshing. I supped the cool moisture. Beech bushes I thought. Ivy. That was the organic makeup of the area. A black bird called. The pigeons and doves were going to bed. I understood all these items visually.

I then saw Abbottz approaching. I tried to avoid his glance because I knew he was a known psycho. But today he seemed more mellow and I listened to his news. A wise man, I thought. A careful man. But as he was talking I found I wasn't listening at all. My mind drifted off into the distance. It was thinking and concentrating adamently on a sports field and an odd wooded region somewhere. Then I realized what he was saying and said that I thought it was good. Thought it was right. I said keep doing what you are doing and do it slowly and you'll be in good standing.

I focused myself on a pencil. It was something I did. It was a mind game. It was a game of concentration. I suppose ultimately it was about sense clarification. You know experiential evidence. So I drew a sketch of a pear that I had in my pocket. Abbottz thought this was a brilliant idea. He said are you actually copying every single detail. I said that I am. That was my style I went on. I was the kind of person who liked to do EVERYTHING THE WAY THAT IT WAS MEANT TO BE DONE. I took an odd pleasure in this I suppose. I said that I liked doing things properly and demonstrated this task. Tom looked on. I crushed a can that was lying in the road under my foot.

It was this act of making sure that was crucial. It was a matter of life and death. And I knew this in my head. An unfortunate who unluckily stepped on and slipped on such an item would be dead in seconds. A person who heard a tin can rolling down the road in the wind fiendishly could be driven mad by the whole affair. Mad and dangerously unpredictable. Then it was time for something more solemn. Tom looked sombre. He had been involved in a case of armed robbery. He had attempted to steal some orangey brown shoe polish. His weapon was a house brick with a battery of Queen albums attached to it with wire. I'd have to bail him out. It would cost £130.

I walked away from the police station. As I sat on the corner of the town square and waited for Abbottz I became aware of a hunger. Really, in this commercial centre there was only consumerism. Abbottz said he had no money so I had to buy coffees for us. They were served by a beautiful person. Abbottz was fond of beautiful people and he talked about them. But not at length. Short and snappy was his style. I felt that the ice cream cafe was not fully mature. How odd.

I climbed the stone steps and stabbed Mr Smith in the chest with piece of lego.