Two very very short stories for your reading pleasure...and a brief update

Hey dudes,
So I'm still not fully employed,still enjoying the part-time barwork,got a trial for a kitchen job at pizza hut tomorrow,waiting to hear back about some temporary labouring work.All very glamourous,I know.Got our tix to the Leeds music festival the other day.Its going to be frickin fantastic!
I'm headed down to London at the end of August,for the first time,and I can't wait. Meeting up with Tash and Christy for a little hardcore partying and then Nic arrives and a little getting all the way down to the ground,all the way down to chinatown,leaping up into the air gettin juiced up beyond belief hootenany allstar birthday celebration with our friends ensues. (Nic's b-day is on sept 5).I hope I haven't built that weekend up too much.
Anyway,I hope your all doing alright,hope everyone over in Canada is coping with the on going heat wave.Talk to you all soon,heres a couple of little stories I wrote recently,let me know what you think,unless you think they suck,in which case you can kindly keep your opinions to yourselves.hahaha....seriously.


On a beach on the edge of the ocean

Angels float and dangle above the water. Just below the surface I can hear the soft girlish whispers of the fish urging me to wake up. Off in the distance the sounds of barking dogs and bagpipes tumble together through the air. The rocks are hard against my back and sandflies bite my arms and legs,savoring the sweet tang of my blood. Slumber refuses to ease her iron grip,and my eyes remain closed.
A child laughs,those distant bagpipes play on and the waves roll and crash ever closer. That glorious,glorious sound. The hard ocean breeze caresses me,I am too comfortable. I can't remember a thing.


Two lane stream

The rain won't stop and my head is humming. A vague disquieting sound. Like a marching band, marching and playing six blocks away. A marching band with no horn section and a rythmn section banging on broken drums.
Wild cats sit under parked cars, watching the cold drops. They meow into the darkening night and the noise in my head grows ever louder. That busted marching band, marching ever closer.
My jacket is soaked clean through and I'm developing a cough. I'm sitting on this cold dirty sidewalk because I can't make decisions. The street lamps glow orange,casting the world in their errie light. The pages of todays discarded newspaper lay scattered across the road like stepping stones across a two lane stream.
My sandals are in tatters and my toes are wrinkled and shrivelled like prunes. The cold digs its way deep into my body,reaching for my heart. The wind carries the smell of meat and charcoal.
Looking over across that black asphalt stream,I spot a hotdog vendor. My right hand digs deep into my pocket and emerges with a two dollar coin resting comfortably in the middle of its palm. I think I'll get an italian sausage.
I stand and hop from newspaper stone to newspaper stone and cross the street. The marching band turn away,their broken sound fades.