| Fool's gold shines in counter top skies, plastic stars shoot in slow motion amid clouds of gaudy take-away colours, transparent guises for dubious nutrition. Weekend dads masticate on misery while bored offspring clock-watch. Counting down parental access rights with monosyllabic chit-chat interspersed with awkward silences. Fluorescent scrutiny casts pallid hues and coupled with forced smiles creates strained facades, reminiscent of a certain ghastly clown. Divorcee depression fogs the vicinity like anti-marriage propaganda rife with bitterness and regrets. I ordered Big Mac and fries to go and left with a free side order, added incentive to make my marriage work. |