Sunday, 3 November 2013

Photo: Luke Lennox

A skinny street.
Morning sun licks the high sides of pink and orange apartment buildings.
Some dog barks.
Parked cars stay parked.
A kid on his first bike leads his old man, balding and tucked-in.
Plants fill terracotta pots fill balconies leaning over the road, and through the thick still morning a man smokes and eases an aimless bike from then to there.
A creaking old couple; matching bags, shades and stride; a perfect cadence.
A well dressed woman stops mid crossing, she kneels and gathers three fresh nuggets; the dog looks away. 

You're tall here, not tall enough for vertigo, but tall enough.
It occurs to you that it hasn't occurred to you to lean over, let a breeze whistle in your ears till you land, laugh and melt away.
You sip cooling coffee and wonder how long it's been sat in your lap.
The chemicals settled overnight and the street is as quiet as it gets, this morning a coffee and a view are things that matter as much as anything could.

A man in fresh blue jeans and a button down shirt picks his nose and wipes his find on a shop window.
This day is a good one.      

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