Star of the Show

I sit in what I believe is the best seat in the house. Unfortunately, I seem to be unable to get comfortable. Dining with royalty more than makes up for the cold, unforgiving seat in which I sit. At my side squats a half drunken milkshake from which I take my first sip. It is truly refreshing along my coarse, dry throat. Smiling, I welcome another heard of regal visitors into the glamorous city for which I am an ambassador. Aloof scowls greet my generous smiles as the visitors turn their heads towards the heavens for my radiant popularity can only be quenched by the brilliance of the angels.

Swiftly, a man- dressed in an impeccable uniform- approaches me. Evidently, he longs to be as great as ambassador as I for he attempts to relieve me of my duty. Waving a hand at him, I dismiss his concerns- the tattered fingerless glove which adorns the hand seems to seal the deal. Fixated with me, the man summons a flock of his friends to marvel at my amazing ambassador skills. There is no greater host than I and these men evidently agree. In fact, they believe I am doing my job far too well and wish to spare the royalty from my impeccable charisma.  I attempt to inform them it is of no avail for I am surely the talk of all of London by now. The men continue their attempts to relieve me of my post but I hold firm. One of them knocks over my milkshake.

Watching in horror, I see the heavenly pink liquid flow away from me; slipping away beneath the metal leviathan. Politely, I ask if one of the men will buy me another drink. Finally, they succumb to my brilliance and can no longer keep their hands away from my tattered coat. Whilst they pull me away, I wave my hand at my endearing fans once more. They smile as I am dragged up the stairs; they have obtained the approving glance which they yearned for.

I am thrown out into the rain and left there to rot.