tales from an ordinary world

2000-11-09a

There was something else to say but it's been washed out by flashbacks, a graffiti'd monk staring silently as I walked past, her eyes in that upstairs café that played too much Portishead, all the melting snow in New York City that was so unkind to my Blundstones, people running to catch trams, standing on the pier watching people catching squid or learning to scuba dive, playing the Cocteau Twins in a friend's car as we passed a field full of sunflowers.