After my run this morning, thinking about my trip into town yesterday, a rush of endorphins inspired me to write these words. Probably nonsense but once out there, may as well share it, right?
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Up the steps and out into the bright
Glaring light of the fiery sun
Swing a left, past the guy
Sat on the floor, head bowed
Sign reads “hungry, homeless, help.”
The glare of the Ritz stares back
With its golden glitz, a mocking glow.
Kerching.
You need hope mate. Best of luck.
Buildings put sun into wintry shade.
Peel off at a pace, full steam ahead
Arts club left side, Grazelli two down
Dover Street market over the road.
Animal skulls on sale at a price
Nice shirts, hefty tag.
Can I help you asks the cool assistant
Just looking I say – not at that price I
think.
Onwards and upwards past new Paul Smith
shop
Well done mate, respect, boy done good.
Guy in orange trousers gives me the eye.
Gents in a dark room meet to discuss
How their money can be used to make even
more cash.
Personalised number plates, incoherently
parked streetside.
Status symbol. Symbol of wealth.
Money for nothing.
Through Mayfair, over Regent Street, into
Soho.
Charles Bradley pouring his heart into my
ears.
A gallery on Beak Street, not too
welcoming, shall I go in?
Why not? Photos by a man who sees faces
everywhere. Not bad.
The frosty curator has her back turned. I
try to engage.
She’s not for melting, I’m obviously not
her type
Not yet disappeared up my own…
Your loss lady.
A people watching lunch, then time to go
Back the way I came.
Home for the school pick up.
Past the same shops, same galleries, same
swarming crowds.
Buildings part, sun still shining.
Glittering Ritz, different hobo.
Down the steps. On the train.
Home.
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