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entry 12
- 13th November 01
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scary
Tim Tom
I turned up unnanounced at Angela's today, and noticed immediately that she seemed somewhat ill at ease. When I walked into her lounge I saw why: there was a giant stick insect of a bloke sitting on the edge of her coffee table. He had a shock of red hair, like rusty wire wool, and matching dragons tattooed on the backs of his hands.
"This is Duncan," said Angela to Tim (or Tom). "We used to work together." "Worked? Or played? That's what Tim thinks. Tell old Tom." His gaze was darting about the room, then it fixed back onto me. "Worked," I said. Tim-tom grunted, then moved like quicksilver back to his perch on the table. He pointed at a wall, where several of Angela's crap-o-graph paintings hung. "I suppose you'll be thinking about stealing Angela's ideas, eh? That's the way Tim looks at it. You've got to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on Tom." Then, as suddenly as he'd sat down, he was on his feet again. He paused for a moment and then disappeared out of the room, making clicking noises with his tongue. "I think you'd better go," said Angela. "He's in a funny mood." I didn't argue the point, and left. When I got home I took Angela's artistic lead and did my very own crap-o-graph. It plots my sense of ease against Tim-tom's absence, then presence, then absence again...
Could you do a similar graph? See here Cathuz later
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