We tie his arms and legs to da cars and rip him apart, he ran off wid our doh, he’s nuttin but a gutter rat, nobody gets away wid dat, nobody. Bluey you and da boys, you find him, he caint of got far.
We’ll get him boss, he’ll wish he never crossed us…I mean you, you was the brainz behind it.
You caint trust no one Bluey, ya find him, he tells us where he hid the loot, we split him like a chicken.
I’ll find him boss, count on da boys and me.
Bluey got up from his chair, leaving the darkened room and the smoke that made his eyes sting and hard to focus.
The rat inhaled deeply once again, smirked and exited from the back door, being careful not to trip over the bloodied head lying on the floor beneath his desk.
Angela has done it again, another week with a brilliant photo.
No poetry this week, I haven’t read any of the other entries, but my intuition tells me that they will be along the same theme. I’m off to have a look – why don’t you? 🙂
photo credits: observatory.designobserver.com