Each year in the UK, around one and a half million trolleys are abandoned; as many as 300,000 never make it back.
Twenty Eighteen is signalised by a remarkable event, a mysterious and unexplained phenomenon, which doubtless no one important in the pyramid scheme of things has yet considered.
Trolley is confused. He knows many things. He knows how many starlings make a murmuration – but has no idea of the time. It's 20:18, but it can’t be nearly twenty past eight all year long. In 1949, Big Ben stopped for a bit of a rest. Trolley only stops when the red line is reached and the conveyance bucks like a cowboy riding a nuclear warhead.
SHARE MORE. CONSUME LESS. What does it mean? Why does your city need a Chinese billionaire in league with an authoritarian with an ironically feminine name?
Trolley looks up. The starlings have created a musical score on the telegraph lines. In ¾ time. Tiny black dots bear the message of the narrative. Trolley cannot locate his melodica. He clutches the blue plastic case.
Cambridge City Council is aware of this abandoned trolley and has arranged for it to be ignored, tagged and eventually removed.
Many were the occasions when said orange tag would've incited his head languages to speak at once. Now Trolley passes over such concerns. His communications with the world are honest, considered and invariably misinterpreted with all implausible deniability by sections of the non-listening population. Human beings love their dogs for the same reason Trolley loves silence. It focuses the senses.
His latest SWOT analysis has quietened the soul. Yet touch has been neglected. Drunken kisses and clutches from Melon don’t count. Years without close contact have helped control the controllable. Sexual nature corrodes the wheels, they go off on tangents. Were a lady to place hand upon knee, long enough to register, Trolley might have to hit the big red knob.
24 VOLT AC WARNING FIRE SHUTTER CLOSING.
Trolley looks up. The starlings have resorted to high-energy proton beams. The former health minister and local Tory MP has apparently come to his senses. Dogs would've detected the cancer sooner than the Daily Telegraph and its impenetrable black dots.
Trolley eats shoots and leaves. He is subject to lax gun control, not to mention punctuation; and he isn’t even a cowboy!
H.M. Government is aware of this ironic episode of bowel cancer and has arranged for it to be ignored, tagged and eventually removed.
*subject to council cuts
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