The Backward Chronicle 4

jean

Step in out of the bitter cold winter night wind Icy as hell, if hell can be icy. 

Walk around the corner into that icy wind.

Stand by the fountain, unsure if this is art or waste.

Walk into the square, brightly lit – a man selling coffee from the inside/outside ofan old black cab.

Step out of the gallery.

Buy a box of discounted side dish Christmas Crackers -finger size. Bite size.

Walk past the portraits, Lucien Freud, self. Amy, not.

Ignore the Tudors and the Stewarts.

Watch whilst my bag is searched.

Say – “when I was a kid there were always pavement paintings here”.

Drink miso soup whilst walking.

Ask-“was it this café when he played here?”

Admire the illuminated flowers.

Step out of the church.

Look at the priest in green-;so dark himself, so bright his hassock.

Is it a hassock?

Examine the Jean Cocteau designs.

Why is the person leading this evening prayer sitting behind everyone?

Step into the church.

Ask the policeman where the church is.

Walk through China Town.

Munch on chocolate slice whilst waiting.

Drink a dark-as-night espresso.

Wait.

Buy a sandwich – or was it the other way.

Step out of shop.

Step in shop.

Consider the pub.

Marvel at how this Church is lost between the time and progress that is invading .

Look at the street that will, soon, be no more. It’s sad.

I used to know this place, I remember when to get to the record store you had to walk through the washing machine shop and climb the steps at the back. That was before the washing machine shop washed up. And the record store became a shop, became an empire.

It’s not there anymore.

Is this still going backwards?

Yes.

We just added about fifty years.

backward chronicle 5

ab/50