the door closes and i’ve given myself twentie minutes to get to the stop. as i turn the corner the graffiti shouts at me “free marian price” and i wonder who the fook is marian price? if i had google i would know that sheeza prominent irish republican who bombed the old bailey in 1973 injuring 200 people. across the road graffitied in black paint i see the letters eye or ah and think, for fook sake lads . . .
turning the corner the grass verge is littered with hot bags from the local deli, empty remnants of a childs breakfast, perhaps lunch coupled with red tin cans and plastic bottles of the cola type lie at the rear offa persons castle. the seventie five goes by and i know my ride will arrive shortly so i wave goodbye to the newly landed winged scavengers and move onwards passing school children exiting their house of learning and i think what are they taught?