The balloon out of the magic of time, a sideways glance at them and they are us and we’re staring at ourselves. Tiredness enthrals and time stands still but everything is moving. Lengthways he knew what he was doing; lengthways she ran out of the house in her mind. The balloon sidesteps the other wise clarity in the air, interrupting the day with the blue that out-blues the sky which went grey an hour ago. Whirl in the mystique of time is this blue balloon; the mystique something we don’t understand but can explore, the balloon upsets the balance and sticks to the moment like a bad stain. The kid here has a face that says ‘don’t give away where I got this from’, fun is a secret now and she’s not blabbing where she got this little piece of blue fun now and not next week either. ‘Run along adults, this is all mine and it can go about its day with me along by its side and I don’t give a damn if even the Earth complains.' Shards of sky fell into this kids eyes and she spat them out as a gift for the entire world to see. Rudeness in this place was a gift, something genuine out of the mist of contrivance and false-talk; you can’t wrap up spit so she let it fly from her mouth, an act of love not contempt that burst merry on the stage-scene of this frustrated landscape that needed to be disturbed by laughter.
