Street

Under the roof that mother nature gave us, a black, star speckled open expanse. Soft breeze in my hair, and chips... My drunkard friend hurls chips at me, oh how hilarious, and the line waves across the side of this footbridge near the train tracks. I couldn’t decide if this really counts, but since I found an area, a private (within reason) space, off the beaten track, close to the stonework...
For sure I’m not the first to have gone here either, not in this kind of ‘student area’, on the line from town to my humble home.

Pub

The toilet has a dirty redish colour, somewhere between the light and the paintwork (neither taking full responsibility). Dirty, as in, evoking the depraved (more than it can live up to). Claustrophicaly thin, it’s kind of set out like a corridor between two cubicles, with one wall designated for collecting urine, the aluminium curtain, a small incompetent drain at the centre.

Gallery

Hospital? Maybe it’s the baby changing facilities, and the electric water heater... I don’t know I’m just getting hospital here. There are two steps up to the door into this room. The window is barred with no subtlety. and a set of four pipes run up the wall next to the toilet bowl. There used to be a large door, (out of use) lent against the wall in here, until recently. There’s room to breathe. I’m about to do a short reading from this blog to a small audience. It makes me nervous, even though it’s small and informal. I get that nervous shit forming feeling. Performances are often preceded by a significant eviction of the bowels. I’m not sure why, something that the body does in response to the nerves and stress? This time I retain control, and decide against it.