[…] wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.
Slowing down doesn't have to feel like holding back. It can be an opportunity to revel in sounds and sensations, to not be so concerned about where we are going but to enjoy the moment and become comfortable where we are.
As John walks up the steps, the faithful dove glides in to him and unwinds silk from cocoons salvaged from the Egyptian ship and it flies with the precision of spiders to webs, birds building a nest and bees a hive, then binds the whole from the clouds and cloudy incense into a band of cloth, light as silk adorned in a breeze to wrap his body in a dressful cover as to be prepared to the world.
[H]e had little time or respect for the rich skip bitches who were his neighbours, useless fake-tanned women with plastic smiles and silicone tits who spent their husbands' money on afternoon teas, endless shopping and personal trainers.
