The Chinese man couldn’t stop sneezing.
He sneezed and sneezed.
There were ten bags of flour waiting to be packed
into his car. The boot was open.
I was just about to get him a paper napkin
when he kicked his car.
With every sneeze, he kicked the car.
He leaned on the boot, holding onto the edge
with his hands, his head down.
He sneezed and kicked, sneezed and kicked.
He went around to the side door and opened it.
He went back to the bags of flour
waiting on the trolley.
He sneezed and swore.
He sneezed and did karate chops in the air.
He sneezed and kicked the car again.
