Bloomsbury

Late on a damp summer's evening in Bloomsbury,

night shadows dance on the wall in the glow of a streetlight.

Ticker-tuckers outside mark the wheels of pilgrims scurrying to catch the Piccadilly line, although, if you listen carefully, sometimes this is the klip-te-klop of police horses.

The downstairs neighbour plays his bass too loud (and too badly) and men stumbling home from the Marquis Cornwallis bicker and joke loudly. But I'm too tired to care, and as my eyelids grow heavy, all the clamor.................

                                                      fades..................

                                                                                 out...     

                                                                                           .