Character No.2:Susan

A litte sadder...

Susan lives alone, in a large 1 roomed apartment beneath a large shopping mall. This apartment is known by locals as the ‘car park underneath the shopping centre’ due to its’ designated function as a place for them to leave their means of transport while they buy goods. Susan however, would like to contend, that as she deposited her red rug in space 12E that it should be known as her apartment. She wears raggedy, grey sweaters, and holey skirts, though she maintains it’s an artistic choice. Her hair wisps around her shoulders, almost gliding along her neck. She used to be an artist, living in an apartment, selling just enough to keep living. Going to trendy bars to party with her artsy friends. Until one day she stopped selling, stopped going to the trendy bars, was thrown out of the loft with no where to go, and one by one the artsy friends drifted away, whether into the fabric of the city or into other lives completely. And so it was that this once creative, alive mind, flickered out in an underground carpark, wrapped in a red carpet.

Character No.1: George

I like making up people in my head. I often find that once I start writing, I can usually get to a pretty random place quite fast. So I've decided to start writing short character profiles and post them here. It's just a bit of fun and maybe I'll use some of them one day.

George is a young gentleman, George is about 5’7, he has a small white goatee and a shock of mauve hair that sprouts from his head like a turnip in a Feudal Field. He attends circus school where he is studying unicycling with a view to becoming a reviewer of unicycles on the television. George enjoys cool jazz and knitting tea cozies. Every morning at approximately 9.AM he ventures from his apartment located in 9^th Boulevard and makes his way across the road to a large potato sculpture, he purchases a coffee from the street vendor located near by and climbs on top of the potato where he sips the coffee and basks in the sunlight. He will then venture from this spot down to a small patisserie three streets away. From here he purchases a lemon tart quarter and a potato scroll. He munches away on these tasty items as he saunters to the circus school, located just a few more streets away. As he walks through the door, licking the last few crumbs of potato from his lips, he hears the whistle of the Circus Teacher Steve’s lips pursing together, summoning his charges to another day beneath his thumb. George sighs, kicks his outside shoes off, pulls on his unicycling cleats, steeling himself for another hard day astride his one wheeled bike.