A tramp inside a jet engine...

There's a jet engine dumped on my street with a tramp sitting inside it. You have to love Budapest! Quite simply. And waiting further down the street are clothes pegs in bins - the litter digger's treasure. The guys are elbow deep to get at them. The city, the laboratory, the sweltering incubator. We've called it all home recently. I'm padlocked into a sublime way of seeing other people live from the sticky air of the second floor, where the road fumes gather. Clearly not possible to sleep on your feet with sirens every minute. Hungary has the loudest sirens in the world, for sure. Now I see that sitting inside a jet engine would block it out. Less ear damage. So I'm the fool, not him. But there's a spare eardrum in the safe, next to the half banana and the smelly watch. That's something. The spacetramp's wearing a denim jacket over his leathery skin. I'm just hot, wilting in shorts. I'm training for hotter heat. He's a veteran survivor living in a nice piece of aeroplane. 

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