What am I searching for? Am I looking for a book? Am I looking for the key? Am I searching for the salt? There’s always something isn’t there? A teaspoon. An address. The divine. Maybe. Or the sex thing. Walking along the seafront. The clickidy-clackedy machinery of desire.
But that’s a digression, isn’t it?
Anyone fancy winding up an orange?
Where’s the key gone?
