I cycled home early, early in the morning one night last week after the last train left without me. It wasn’t exactly something I would have chosen to do freely but there was something magical about flying through the empty, rain-soaked streets.
|sent from: London, UK. destination: Los Angeles, California, USA|
Empty Tube, full cabs, my feet describing circles on the pedals. Puddles being refilled by over-eager waiters.A club, small huddled crowd. He stands with hands in his pockets. She stands holding a cigarette, their mouths together.A small park, pot smoke coming from the dark.A short girl, a tall man, cigarettes of equal length, wearing each other’s hats.A slingshot around the empty roundabout and I’m flying into the dark heart of the Common, certain that hands are reaching from the bushes to drag me down.