As evening dropped off the clock an airship dropped out of the sky. In a menagerie cage a monkey sat, sniffed and was still again. A child laughed and pointed at the monkey, the father smiled and suggested ice cream.
The monkey sniffed. A trail of smoke sailed to the stars between a warehouse, turned into a spilled puzzle of some thousand and five pieces, possibly once labelled Number 55, according to half an edge of a wood painted sign. The other half of the sign had added a jaunty hat to an algae crusted ironmonger ship from some fifty years earlier, planted at the dock poking into the equally muddy and disused river.
The monkey sniffed. Somewhere a child giggled and undeneath it all, including various pieces of aircraft, two words floated to the top of the city.
“Oh damn.”
