The Senses Mutiny

My scientist friend was resting under the pergola in his back garden, eating parsnip chips, myriad cheeses on bread and draining a two Euro bottle of wine. There was another glass and a clean plate laid on the table.

(Rewritten this one. Didn't like previous attempt.) I was not in an office when the doors to so many were broken down and tramped through like bracken, when the dead came hacking like crones, hacking like children through overgrown gardens.