Brooke Milliken


As has become the new norm, I take a trip to the shop. 2x jars coffee, milk, bread, fruit, crisps. Walking down the road I notice a tall, skin-headed man holding a can of strong cider. It seems as if he’s rambling to himself but as I approach I can see he is chatting to someone through the window of their ground floor flat. The man in the window wafts the scent towards the drunk man outside as he attempts to put a finger on the mystical scent around him.

There’s got to be a revolution.