In the morning
It is a Brixton morning, and after a night of clubbing I am home. Too awake for this night, but too asleep to face the day, I have cast off my gothery (a skirt too big for usefulness and a corset too small for practicality) and re-dressed. I am going in search of the kind of allergy-inducing dairy snack that I can only contemplate because this Brixton morning was preceded by a London night.
It is 4am and the light is already beginning to touch the sky; Brixton, however, is undeterred. A few streets away a pounding beat betrays a party in full swing. On the high street I have a choice of three 24 hours stores, and the temptations of pizza, fried chicken and, rare in this part of town, real fish and chips. I pick my way through the patrons of a bar which is kicking out (they will go another bar which will illegally just be opening) and emerge fully laden.
Away from the high street it could almost be respectable. Curtains drawn, silence ringing, a passing ginger tom, who I would dearly love to speak to, sauntering by. The mundane morning makes me feel inebriated; although I have only had 2 or 3 drinks, it has taken 5 entirely legitimate drugs to get me through this night, and they are taking their toll. I focus on the sky, where the growing light is showing soft clouds that will clear to make a beautiful day of this crisp dawn.
At home my neighbours are in the garden, enjoying the ashes of a party or the start of the next. Away from their laughter I curl up in bed, a dab of my lover's scent on my wrist to pretend he is near; I breathe him in softly and try to sleep.
It is 4am and the light is already beginning to touch the sky; Brixton, however, is undeterred. A few streets away a pounding beat betrays a party in full swing. On the high street I have a choice of three 24 hours stores, and the temptations of pizza, fried chicken and, rare in this part of town, real fish and chips. I pick my way through the patrons of a bar which is kicking out (they will go another bar which will illegally just be opening) and emerge fully laden.
Away from the high street it could almost be respectable. Curtains drawn, silence ringing, a passing ginger tom, who I would dearly love to speak to, sauntering by. The mundane morning makes me feel inebriated; although I have only had 2 or 3 drinks, it has taken 5 entirely legitimate drugs to get me through this night, and they are taking their toll. I focus on the sky, where the growing light is showing soft clouds that will clear to make a beautiful day of this crisp dawn.
At home my neighbours are in the garden, enjoying the ashes of a party or the start of the next. Away from their laughter I curl up in bed, a dab of my lover's scent on my wrist to pretend he is near; I breathe him in softly and try to sleep.