Wednesday, 22 October 2008

The Bath House to Hills Road, always to Hills Road.

I stopped at the lights over a manhole cover
i fell down one once
and I heard the water rushing beneath me and my mind ran down into that subterranean world of pipes and cables, of full sewers flowing fast and hollow spaces, underground and eerie

the world beneath

As I biked past the phone box near the french cafe the phone started ringing.
I stopped and answered it dreading some sort of sexy time call or worse some colin farrell phone booth moment but nervously excited and glad i'd stopped.
A man with a heavy and unrecognisable accent asked me who it was, he had had a missed call from this number. how boring
I told him it was a phone box in cambridge and he made me describe to him where it was, at the end of station road near the french cafe.
I said
I'm going to go now
and i put the phone down.
At least he didn't ask me what sort of panties I was wearing.

I got back on Megan's little bike and meandered home in a low gear, unfazed by the car revving up my ass as i dawdled over the railway bridge.

And the man leaning against the fence by the bus stop looked like a mass of ivy in the street light.
It was a mass of ivy
that looked like a slumped man....

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