His name is Harry.Braces! He's going to America and up to the the pub to cool down with a beer and a main meal of a Sargent's pie and a Resches's beer. I met him last night. He feels like a Tootheys or two. For a living he's a punter, a bookmaker and he's done his dough. He doesn't look like a family man but he has a mother and a father. He looks English and he feels bloody hot, he's dripping with perspiration. He's relaxing on a cane lounge somewhere. He's got a bowl of breakfast cereal because he's lacking in vitamin B and C. I don't like his braces.
There's the sound of silence and there's no one around. You can hear the sound of the wind from over the hills. If that was Kellogg's you'd be able to hear the sound of snap, crackle and pop. He is looking at somebody, for someone to take care of him so he doesn't have to wear braces - they went out with the ark - he is in a war torn country. In the end he would get up, take his braces off, his pants would fall down and he would be cool. He would have a shower, some strawberries and cornflakes. He's a busy boy covered in cornflakes. He would get rid of those braces and get someone to look after him.
This story was created by Marcia. Betty, Helen and Hilton at Calvary Rehabilitation Ward on October 22, 2012.