The voices…

There’s a large bill-board in Southwark that’s been devoid of advertising for well over a month now. Each morning as I walk past it taunts…

“…You should fly-poster me…go get a marker pen and scrawl ‘I’m so good I want to read myself‘ in massive letters…Come on Cororan…where’s your backbone?”

The problem is that the bill-board is visible from the office in which I work. In any other circumstance this would be a good thing (as opposed to career limiting).

Now, I’m not in the habit of receiving messages from inanimate objects, although I once wrote a short story about a woman who did (e.g. grass screaming ‘Nooo, don’t cut me!’ Coffee mug shouting ‘Don’t pour that liquid in me – It’s hot, hot, HOT!’)

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