South of the river

The prospect of negotiating the heights of the bridge caused me to consider taking a ride on the tube. A thought dispelled by the recollections of that underground domain, the smell of ozone and the non too welcome ashen glares, the proximity of humanity in its immobile state, like cattle gently rocking in compliant expectation. So I walked, the river a bearable projection of light reflected in the incandescent scatter on its surface, I made progress without too much discomfort. When I reached the other side, Nelson greeted me with a silence that told all; who’s boss here, my place is in this part of the world. At least the pigeons are back, they stopped poisoning them when the rats became a problem. South of the river, a place that should be left to proverb.

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~ by deadspidereye on January 23, 2016.

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