Five Minutes. Some Things.

Ahhh... five minutes.
I saw a woman pursue a yellow flimsy plastic bag from the toy shop, down the street. She had a tubular aluminium walking-stick with a rubber foot at the end. She was trying to spear it but the wind was playing a game with her. She chased it towards the street bin, sometimes managing to catch it.
She lifted it, against the wind, and towards the opening to the bin.
The wind laughed.
With a caressing tiny gust, it entered the bag and lifted it up above the bin and down the street beyond her reach.

I have been at Gina's this morning trying to play guitar chops on two of her tracks. I'm not a chopper and I want to learn how to do it; that bloke from The Young Marble Giants is brilliant at it so I'm going to listen.
I think what I did was OK in the end, and it's good because I've started wanting to play guitar to write songs again; it all got a bit swept to one side last week because I did so much travelling.
We went for a snack in her local pub and a builder was yelling into his mobile phone in the garden about measurements and prices. When I got back to where I live, another one was doing it in the street.
They have got very big-headed and annoying now that the 'housing market is overheated'.
Pity they are all too bigheaded to bother to come to fix my roof; they are probably yelling at nobody, just showing off. Their imagined thousands pile up in the bank, day after day, making imagined millions. Meanwhile, the next crash is just around the corner. What will they do then?