THE WALTHAMSTOW TRIPOD
WHAT IS IT?
WHAT’S IT FOR?
WHO PUT IT THERE?
DO YOU THINK THE THING ON THE TOP MIGHT START FLASHING AFTER DARK?
[find out more…]
Feb 252012
Filed by Place
Feb 232012
by Cassandra Solon-Parry
The man who gets on the bus after me is wearing the same outfit I am: charcoal denims, black leather jacket, white pumps. We acknowledge this then look away. Later, when the person sat between us leaves, we glance up and find ourselves looking at each other again. I’m reading a music magazine. He’s listening to music through a shiny red iPod. I make a point of not smiling and then I look out the window. [read more…]
Feb 212012
The Helmsman, Pimlico Gardens
I don’t know how many of you were part of the New York leather scene at the tail end of the ’70s but, in the bars around Christopher Street, there were really only ever two topics of conversation: were the Village People cynical frauds helping to perpetuate offensive gay stereotypes, albeit with great tunes; and should you, when suddenly called upon to pilot a small boat through uncertain waters, strip off completely or leave your cap on? [read more…]
Feb 202012
Half man, half bull, he prowls the Barbican highwalk…[see more…]
Feb 192012
Cab-less and bewildered in Vauxhall’s afternoon heat, the micro-skirted blondes tottering up Newport Street – snazzy holdalls sagging on spaghetti-strapped shoulders – cast a ten-legged silhouette on the railway arches’ dusty brick.
Feb 182012
by Simon Sylvester
So I pick him up from the Camberwell depot, depot, and he’s there with his flat cap and his dreads and his fingerless gloves, leather for better grip, see, mouthing off with all that niggatalk, but I don’t dig his vibe. Not at all, man. I reckon he tries too hard. I reckon he be days away from being busted. [read more…]
Feb 162012
by Sabrina Mahfouz
The eldest ties her sister’s scarf
back around her hair –
not too tight. [read more…]
Feb 152012
THE CLAPTON STICKS
WHAT ARE THEY?
WHO PUT THEM THERE?
WHAT ARE THEY FOR?
ARE THEY JUST BROWN… AND STICKY…?
[find out here…]
Feb 142012
Passing The Rocket on Euston Road, I remember the hair rising from the nape of his neck, his toes under the table, the two-for-the-price-of-one meals going cold as we warmed.
Feb 132012
by Jude Rogers
He found her on the railway line. Her hair was bright yellow, the colour that children paint sunlight, tied in thick bunches around her small, cold cheeks. She wore a blue shirt, as brilliant as a summer sky. In her left hand, she held a small bunch of daisies. [read more…]