Here is a very silly story I wrote on the train, because my brain is in pain and nothing more sensible (like the novel and the screenplay/s) appears able to flow.
On a sunny but wintry mid-afternoon, you may happen to meet on a stroll round Bond Street, The Cock and The Lioness of London town, on their way to Selfridges from Marylebone.
'Ahhhhhh' sighed The Cock, ruffled by the cool breeze, and fluffing out all of his feathers to be, and stretching his neck as he strutted along and looked all around for the strains of his song. 'What an interesting building,' he waved with his wing,
'Like peepholes with steeples', Lioness bared her grin,
'Or modernist pods,' he pondered aloud;
'A cube with a view for the well thought of few'
'What you say is true - I call it a scoop! A battery hen could not complain at that coop.'
Looking closely at Cock, The Lioness purred, 'darling, your poetic meter is caught in a loop; and I'm still full from lunch and my alphabet soup!'
So close to The Cock she was an underground train; rumbling and rattling from low in the drain, so despite being companions he jumped in EXCLAIM!
Landing with feathers all flippety flap, he flew in her face and gave her a brap. 'You silly mad cat, won't you tire of that? You're no more a train than The Cock is a trumpet,'
'Little Cock, if you jump at the train then run fast, for my horn will out-trumpet your trumpety blast!'
Her tail was wiggling (really, don't ask) so The Lioness pounced with a flex of her hips; dribbled towards Cock - teeth, tongue and lips. But his name was his character thus no need to stop, his initimate knowledge said she'd soon roll and flop. So used to such silliness he ran down the road, evading her lavish attentions with show; a headless chicken he lead them their dance and squawked with laughter as she chewed at his pants.
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