Mouldy Crumpet; The Taste Of Hope On The Tip Of Your Tongue

You find yourself at twilight kicking a can down a back street, hasidic jewish people bustle past as you try to get your bearings. You light the cigarette you have been clutching on to and lift your gaze to see two blue rusted gates. Something inside you pulls you to walk through them, on and on you go, one foot in front of the other. You find yourself walking down a street strewn with rubbish. One man’s rubbish is another man's plea----  a dead bird resides on top of a copy of ‘the revolution and how to get a way with it’ you clutch your necklace that your fat aunty Sue gave you and you pray to St Eligius. Unable to recall the exact moment you lost control of your legs you move ever forward through  the waste land of scathing grey and blue metal. Past the smashed up cars and through a small garden - winding up face to face with a giant blue sign. Whisps of the river dance floating on the wind, you see a flash of skirt, a strobe light followed distorted laughter emanating out of the golden half foggy window. Before you know it your finger dances a top of the doorbell and you penetrate the soft fleshy mat –  it rings. 

A large breasted scantily glad woman with a menacing smile smothered in red lip stick opens the door. 

You have reached heaven. 

Welcome to Mouldy Crumpet.