October 22, 2024
The sky cries and the buildings shudder, there echos a dull thuddy ring of pints and chatter from the public house.
Despite it all, the angular lines, wet with the sky, create their own sense of order and form… a sharp, slippy silhouette of a world painted in grey pencil.
And red trumpets blur from the grapes.
And mad men dance in the street.
And the pianos are out of tune.
And the parks are fresh and hidden.
And God seems more ludicrous now somehow, with his flat roofed churches and high street preachers. The chippy has brighter lights and offers a quicker, warmer and more welcoming path to the end.
By Charlie McKeon
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