Nathaniel Churchill

Casper Roth

This morning like many mornings before it, Casper Roth found himself in the Penny-farthing lounge resort and spa. Signage misleading for it was neither a resort nor a spa. It was one of the three shops south of Brixton you could find a butter biscuit worth tasting. Casper was placid. Domesticated and soft. Unmovable in a pathetic sort of way. After collecting his tea and scone he sat in the corner shop sipping. Longing for a reception with one unknown to him, so that he might impress upon them his cleverness. For although he had a will similar to the rigidity of wheatgrass, he had the eyes and mind to equal the difference. Being the sole owner of the world's largest pancake collection, he felt a great deal of imagined importance. A great weight of batter about his shoulders.