Men holding cans of weak lager produced mumbled soliloquies to the Embankment skyline, their wizened hands stretched out forlornly to caress its many curves. Their coats were stuffed with newspapers for warmth, and I hoped that the ink didn't run off onto their scrawny bodies during the chill, wet night
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Comments 7
I miss Camden, and I miss London reading this.
Though the bastards demolished my favourite vintage clothes shop.
I don't think Yorkshire allows tramps as such, but our local Big Issue seller is a marvel, he sings The Big Issue every day, just those three words, in various festive riddims. I gather he is moving into a hip hop vibe next week. I commend his spirit in possibly the most certain Conservative stronghold this side of Margaret Thatcher's expectantly dug six foot cavity
My grandma recently took one he handed over, assuming it to be a free item or magazine, and just kept walking until Dad corrected her, and pointed to his freshly gasted flabber. Definite criminal element in that side of the ol' family tree.
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Incidentally, I've never seen a better library than the one featured in that film.
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