But My Poor Old Feet #100WCGU – week 153

Wearily he answered the phone hoping it wasn’t another job.

‘Sixteen people across town, Cyril.’ Came the gruff order from his boss, no please, thank you or if you can. Just an order barked out with the expectation that it would be fulfilled.

He went to the pick-up point, collected his passengers and skilfully transported them; navigating muddy roads, leafy twig-ridden forest paths and slippery moss-covered stones.

Once back home again Cyril the centipede eased himself into comfy position, undid 100 sets of laces and began to nod off when suddenly the phone rang… ‘but my poor old feet…’ he cried.