The blocks of flats, that stand opposite Clapham Junction are ugly. Made from grey concrete, and brown 1960s pebbledash, with just a dash of cancer; they look like a sick persons shit. The dirty yellow net curtains of the poor under-classes, hang in the hundreds of un-cleaned windows. If anyone I loved, lived there, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Sleep would not come to find me at night. Food would taste foul; drink rancid. If I couldn’t help them get away to somewhere else, what would be the point of me, or my love for them?
Dicky Carter is a resident of Farnborough, birthplace of the Chav, home of the neck tattoo.
Friday, October 14, 2011
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whoa. Powerful.
ReplyDeleteI hope whoever you know who lives there, finds it to be very temporary.
I sometimes think that if all we ever saw of a city was the view from the station or railway line, we'd never, ever want to go there. Every time I go into London, I wonder about the people who live cheek by jowl with the noise and the dirt and the non-stop rattle of the trains, then I come back to the countryside and thank my lucky stars.
ReplyDeleteNicely put Dicky.
I agree with Nessa - powerful stuff!
ReplyDeleteNessa - Thank you.
ReplyDeleteSharon - Your comment is very well put. Thank you.
Spencer - Thanks for visiting.
Wow. Striking short story, Dicky. Loved it!
ReplyDelete