She was of average height and wore a flowery dress in a style that could only be described as "granny like". She sported a big, curly, peroxide blonde mullet to end all mullets. It flowed down the nape of her neck, gathering sweat and grime as it entered the back of her dress, disappearing in unknown lengths.

His face was overlapping with brown and wrinkled skin, the kind you can only get from sitting in a public park all day drinking cheap wine and smoking jagged bottlenecks with grass and mandrax in them. He wore a faded woollen jersey, mauve, that stretched over his fingers with a cheap patchwork leather jacket over it.

His jeans were black. Well, sort of black. Actually they were grey, but could have possibly been black in the distant past when his skin was tight, and he had not yet tasted the joys of alcohol, mandrax and child abuse. His shoes had been stolen from a worst of the worst school sale, his appearance, narcoleptic.

His crotch stuck out as if someone had propped him up with a pole attached to his coccyx. He had a perpetual curve about him, and his slanty bloodshot eyes wavered slowly and longingly over the breasts of the newly divorced ladies exiting the court.

She asked me apologetically whether i knew where court 8F was, I stared for a moment at her mullet, with the brown roots of her distant youth showing at least a half an inch. They were to be divorced she informed me, pointing at her half human husband, and didn't have a lawyer.

I showed them the way. After all this was obviously the height of fashionable occasions for them. He was also sporting a huge brown cowboy hat.

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