Platoon of army ants marching up my body.

And they’re wearing crampons.

It’s 5am. The romantic murmur of the waste collection truck fills the air, occasionally punctuated by a gurgle from a local drunk. Most people don’t experience this thrilling audio frisson, but my body – desperate for me to enjoy this – has got me up. With a typical lack of subtlety, it has chosen to give me the aforementioned sensation alongside the constant thump in my cranium as if said ants are taken to testing atomic weapons in my cerebral cortex. I will have to make that awkward call to work about not being able to turn up later and I hope there won’t be too much eye-rolling and lamentation. There is something rather miserable about this although it does mean that I can catch up on the latest infommercials. At least I can write this utter piffle before I go back to bed. No more to add.


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