In a pickle. What kind of phase is that? Now you’re in a pickle. A more fitting phrase would be – now you’re fucked! Maybe pickles are fucked. Drowned for months in brine after being ripped from their vines, only to be eaten… Yeah, fucked. Being in a pickle is bad enough but it’s worse when you are not the only pickle left in the jar. It’s a pickle jar – it’s airtight.
So how does one find themselves in a pickle? Simple really, you go with the impulse – spanner. You came up with it – make something with it. You must have had an idea when you said it. It wasn’t because you were wearing a spanner around your neck, was it?
Yes, yes it was.
It’s getting out of the pickle that’s the hard part. You have to think. Attempt to free yourself from the airtight pickle jar. Take a firm grip on your imagination and twist.
The bolts had come loose once more. It wouldn’t be long before the thing fell apart again. It really was a piece of crap but it was mine and it was all I had. What a pain, a physical pain in my head. Pounding like a hammer, crushing like a vice and sharp as a chisel. Take the drugs, my spanner, tighten the bolts of my pain and close shop on the migraine.
Cheh – it’s not even a drabble…