The scumbag and the ornithology
I was walking home dodging the open bin bags and dog shit that bloomed on the pavement. It was then that I saw her sitting on a doorstep. She was a chubby knacker, pachyderm style. Her face was rounded, pink colour splashed with freckles. Her spare tyres (big, white, flaccid) escaped from the elastic of a hysterically coloured tracksuit faded by dirt and stains. One of her legs was in plaster and two mucky crunches lay by her side. In front of her some chips had spilled on the ground beside a crumpled and oily brown bag. I could sense the acrid smell of the malt vinegar from far away. Some shy pigeons where jumping around pecking the further chips. When some more came around to share the feast, the scumbag seemed to awake from her lethargy. Her face, even redder than usual, frowned in an anger grimace. She leaned on her left spare tyre swinging her fat to one side. With her right hand grabbed one crunch and she tried to hit the pigeons, shouting with a leathery voice (please read with north side accent)
…Oooooh!!! I hate those fucking seagulls!!!!!!!