[it seems I missed the third anniversary of this blog - sometimes its hard to believe that I’m still finding things to say that people actually want to read - I’ve got a few bits ready to go that are just lacking a picture, but in the meantime three observations from recent days]
Royal Road, relatively innocent at any other time, suddenly shifts pitch to a threatening tone. A man runs round the corner, thin arms gangly triangles at his sides. Fumbles mobile to his ear, doesn’t speak, only breathes. He looks at us. We look at him. Try to communicate that we have seen him but would be willing to forget him too if he prefers. A hasty diagonal takes him across the road where he joins a gender vague friend on a corner wall. Without greeting or goodbye the friend stands and walks away. And a few yards further along three men get into a topless car the colour of long stewed tea. All events apparently unrelated but feeling somehow significant, somehow weighty with the flavour of danger.
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Our old knives have marks bitten deep into their plastic handles, paler blue breaking through. Like they’ve been fighting in the dark, chewing at each other with serrated silver teeth. Their knife nature unstoppable even when the kitchen drawer is closed.
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A crow chases a bread crust down a roof. It bounces tile to tile and he follows. Black after white across the red. Like a strangely slanted game of chess.