Hugh Murdoch: Bus Driver, Serial Killer –

Neck bobbing alive in tightening XXL shirt, blood and fat taking care of its business.
Break and Break, Hugh bullying all seats on No.42, the tiptoeing heavy on wet roads with tight bends, and all sending ear hair curling away from joke heard in Head of Hugh.
Black Night’s viewing had it all, the ways, means and getaways, but Trade Tools are Real Life, airlifted from a disenchanted Horticulturalist’s shed.
Topping up the kills, double figures tonight, chores first; Bus Garage endeavours in oil spills, lockers too full for fitness and forgotten accoutrements kicked under Bothy soft furnishing assortment.
Have to get the tempo right? Tonight.  Think on desires of youth before coronary care unit had a file on his tissue failures.
Walks streets looking for ‘Her’.  Labelled, gagged and tagged ‘Her.
She’s down! She knew it was coming; Here’s Hugh on Hunchback streets.
Rope with tidy rope knots, great car boot ride to a place smelling of boiled muscles, limpets, seafood coats handicapped testosterone and sends it flying across walls and carpets.
Unwraps, unwinds, un-binds his Goat, but, a ten-hour shift of ‘Bussing’ with the wrong glasses, can’t stare-out or stand for a pointed foot in the face, bestial stiletto harm onset.
Nosebleed, inhaler falls, rolls and rolls away from finger-chubbed Hugh Murdoch, now he’ll never meet Charles Manson from the cell next door.

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