Outside the Crown next morning, a wreath shaped like a giant emulsion brush stands propped against the recycling bin; as the breeze rises, wet white petals drip onto the pavement.
Oct 182012
Words Found Written on the Steamed-up Windows of Late-Night Buses
Oct 012012
Beside the track at Richmond, a large stuffed bear slumps against the wall and stares at the gravel. “Mister Bear” says the aerosol scrawl, an arrow pointing at his head.
Sep 052012
“Sorry, mate,” says the man on the footbridge, turning aside to let me cycle past. “Cheers,” I reply. He nods, tight-lipped, then continues urinating onto the Blackwall Tunnel Southern Approach.
Aug 192012
As the train brings her closer to him, she re-reads his texted description but finds herself distracted by just how many houses in Purley have trampolines in their back gardens.
Aug 152012
She was far too old for him; and he was far too gay for her; but, that night on the 188, he thought what the hell, and took her dancing.
Aug 072012
A wet back garden in Leyton on a Monday afternoon; all is still, before the roar. The plants wave their leaves to the wind, and the warmth of 80,000 cheers.
Aug 072012
Oooh, Argos! she squealed, teetering on the seat to press her face to the window as we ground up Kentish Town Road. Unamazed, her mother pointed out it was Poundstretcher.
Aug 022012
Someone told me Patrick Stewart often gets the tube at Bermondsey; I picture him softly mouthing shwoosh when the platform-edge doors open… just secretly, to himself…
Jul 212012
Arm-in-arm, stiletto-heeled, they totter through the Sunday morning rain: a stubbled drag queen with mascara tears and a dead-eyed girl in a silver dress, united by lust for Vauxhall tube.
Jun 282012
The girl stands on the Westfield escalator at 11 p.m. Luther Vandross sings to her, only her, through far-off speakers. Her heart is full of love, her nostrils full of TCP.