Complacency.
The wind blew cold among the doubters, fingers frozen, woolen defences like virtual relationships, useless.
A cigarette smoky plume against this colourless backdrop. Shuffling miscreants looking for an advantage before it was too late.
But it was too late.
The clock had ticked on, few paying homage or heed. Hope had sped off, leaving only a backdraft, a carbon smudge on the greasy concrete.
Vaccine strewn and useless among the human detritus.
Complacency was king.
It wont happen in England.
Over 100,000 lost souls disagree.
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