A flame stretching up to heaven. The newsrooms can’t get enough, a journalist’s dream come true. You, me, everyone, glued to our screens, riveting stuff. (Honey, make us some popcorn, will you?)
“We shall rebuild it!”, echoes through the corridors of power, “Money is no object!”.
I have no doubt.
A flame stretching up to heaven. The newsroom’s embarrassed. A 15 year old making noise, a traffic jam, a pensioner chained to railings. (Nutters. Collective shrugging of shoulders.)
“Full force of the law!”, echoes through the corridors of power (money is the object).
I have no doubt.
A skeleton thin polar bear 400 miles from home.