May 1, 2017
You couldnβt have made it up - on the side of the squat and boarded Chinese takeaway was the illuminated sign: βI had a dreamβ, squiggled in thin blue tube lighting. Only the latter burned dim and cold, cheap but thoughtful - meditative of the looming council build and its crotchety, cramped and disillusioned inhabitants. The hieroglyph for the darkling plain. Pipes and pigeon wire grow all up and in between the 12 floors of window, Β and in them the blue tail-end of the lit word. Each window, small and plasticated, boxed in their single glazed multitudes. Bunged with dirt lace curtain, each catch a piece of the word but never its entirety. The flick of the m, and the sleepy loops of the d and e.
