A faint slither of moon hangs behind the iconic skeleton of old gas cylinders. The setting sun sinks behind me lighting up the canal with its final dance across the glistening water. Cyclists whizz by unapologetically and runners pant past. But they stay just out of focus. My padded ears are filled with Sting’s purr, … More London Moments: Elbows Out
So much space, so many seats, why be cheap – you’ve all piled into one steaming heap. Squeezed between the arms of the patriarchy, you compete, you writhe, bluffing your pride. Smacking lips, narrowing eyes – they may as well be blind. Blocky, cold – she bristles beneath the gaze, alert to the empty train. … More Saturday Night Training
Fiery cloaks and crimson masks, they cluck, in and out – striding with claws at half-mast. It won’t be long, ‘til you find the one, he’ll be the first to crow: Cock-a-doodle-do! In and out, they mingle, heads rising above the flock, wings fluttering – No I am the cock! But until those first licks … More Behold, the Cock
