it's a day off from a boring job and I'm striding along kensington high street feeling good. a rustle of wings and one of the bastards briefly touches my head as it divebombs towards a fallen sandwich. I have to go back to the flat and get shampooing. god knows what you can catch from them.
I'm back in kraków. there's a cobbled street in stare miasto named ulica gołębia. well-named. the dirty winged rats scurry about, pecking up the poppy seeds from the obwarzanki munched by scarf-muffled students.
I'm out in the town with my little lad. five years old, he loves chasing them up into the air. my usual thought remains unvoiced this time. "don't crap on me, don't crap on me".
seagulls are worse, though. much worse:
it's a bright day in backstreets broadstairs and I step into a piratey pub with joel and maja. one of the fuckers shits on maja's straight, perfect blonde hair and it splashes the shoulders of her summery top. she's hysterical. phobic. she cleans up somehow and spends the rest of the day wearing joel's t-shirt. he goes bare-chested, laughing.
Back to TOP
0 comments:
Post a Comment