hungry and with a tooth aching, i leave through the rear of the building raising two fingers to phatt Fred, the Iranian, as he smokes by the side of the Library. The day is Autumnal with the young folks, crowding the narrow chipped pavements of city centre life. The walk takes thirty minutes with occassional thoughts of what the fuke is that? and I need painkillers, or a dentist, or whatever is the cheapest . . .
my cropped head feels the cool beeze and the day seems dark