Thursday, 26 April 2012


A man with a cowl made out of black fur weaves a bicycle through the traffic that waits for
the lights to change. He gets it wrong and has to dash as the engines build their revs.

He pushes his bike on the pavement and walks on looking straight ahead. 

I remember a time when he was buying reduced wine with a voucher in M&S of all places, reeling a jig at the queue unable to control his legs and already smelling like a crate of bottles clinking in a truck the morning after New Year’s Eve.

Just another town drunk with a story waiting to be told.

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