I was on the train to Whitstable Will’s that day reading Cormac McCarthy
Trying to get the hell out of dodge physically and mentally.
	Bury me in a book.
	I scowled at bunting and serried ranks of Willses and Kates
	I saw their Dopplers’ dead eyes peer back through the cardboard
A pair even sat at my table.

At the ruins of Rochester castle I finished the book and mused,
On the death of the Wild West, on tradition, on pomp.
The two-faced couple facing had not removed their masks
So I kicked the Kate under the table and said “Audio flange?”
She blushed.
Not cardboard but the real deal.
I sneezed messily in alarm, liberally coating the window
Wills was as red as his jacket
But it had more to do with the patriotic twins kissing in the FHM.

“Going anywhere nice?” I enquired politely, and added “you shits?”
“Dover Priory” she said and didn’t speak again.
	My ‘revolution’ mural complete I was beaming when I left them
	I grabbed a plastic flag off a child and waved it at the departing train
Then put the child down.

The fools were going to Ramsgate as their noble carriage was decoupled at Faversham.