I wrote this on the back of a magazine on the bus this morning. Nothing fully-formed, but a few ideas and images.
By the way, I managed a whole month (31 days) of writing something (nearly) every day. It's been a great experience for me so far, and has really started perking up my creativity. Some of the stuff I produced was even half-decent.
A woman and man about to cross a Pelican crossing, the woman grasping the man as if to say, "Don't leave me, don't ever leave me, I need you."
Girl in herringbone-patterned coat reads a novel. In the margin of one page, she or someone else has written, in capitals the length of the page, "L AND G DREAM".
I had to take out the rubbish. It was about 3 miles to the dustbins, up-hill, along a path with a wire fence running its entire length. In a moonlit playground a child described hesitant white arcs with the swing. When I got to the dustbins, they were overflowing.
A stern woman in long black coat with glasses and purple-grey hair.
The bus driver's son sometimes gets onto the bus when I do. He barely acknowledges his dad. Sometimes his dad will remind him to be home on time, or to ring when football practice finishes, and the boy merely grunts and inclines his head, away from his father.
A story about a cobbler, or someone who works in a computer hardware shop. These are things I know about.
The birds have made shoddy nests, gingerly cradled in the white arms of a birch.
A man like an untidy heap of box files waits for a bus.