Beside the Nu-Rave Vagrant the old lady coughs the sound of breaking glass. He tries to find solace in her rheumy eyes, but the red little orbs filled him with doubt and self-loathing. Dark times. He slopes off the bus at Hackney City Farm and starts walking to clear his head.
Notes on this uncertain footpath:
______Rows of decimated commercial enterprise.
______Dormant social hubs, mouldering.
______Three tramps, laughing.
______Wind that takes root at the ankle and screams.
______The smell of fish, or rat, coming from an ancient carrier bag.
The Nu-Rave Vagrant, of course, wrote none of this, instead compiling his post-it note annotations of the cityscape as he goes:
______Unsettling cough, lady.
Once he collared a priest on Commercial Row and asked “Why is there virtue in instability? Is there a Soulwax remix?” Jesus wept.
©Matthew Sheret, 2008