In the white cracked hands of Joshua, Georges magical dream ship gallantly sailed along. Through rain, drains and coffie stains.attracted not by the benile,stopping only to hear the senile. It slap sloshed along, into a pigment red sun melting into the sea,leaving a cool quiet,pull my collar up. Georges magical dream ship however always had a however,however bad,however long,however unreal,however it seemed at times safest in the harbour of the white cracked hands of Joshua.