Well I was beat when I got in this evening, but I went for a nap, got up and walked to the shop for some fiery carrot and coriander and ginger soup, and now I feel right as rain. Sorts you out nicely, a nap and some fiery soup. I am revitalised. Coming back upstairs my room does smell predominantly of feet, but that can be sorted by cracking a window onto this cool February night.
Frost on the cars as I pace in trussed-up hoodie to the shop, despite the radiant golden sun shining through haze all day. Two students sat smoking with the homeless man under the cash machine, the homeless man’s legs wrapped in a blanket scratchy and red. In the shop girl pulling stock from the groaning cavern of the back. “No more!” she huffs to her colleague out of shot, then yanks the cage over the threshold, back into the fluorescent store.
Houses with curtains open, spasmodic firing from television sets washing blue pools up and down living room walls. Houses with curtains closed, the generous creamy folds snugly securing the sleeping humans within.
The sky a shimmering rockpool of fluid grey, the day’s haze still stretching down the hill. Clanking traffic muffled by distance. A solitary passerby with head downcast, his breath visible in rhythmic puffs.
The world stretching, unspooling into or out of (I’m unsure which) this central spot. Further out the rockpool, and beyond that, all the rest.
❤
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