Run. That’s what they do when the walk through my ends. Clean soled shoes smacking the uneven pavement, so underused the chewin’ gum sticks like glue into the grooves of their sneakers, taking impoverished traces back with them into Sloane Sq, Chelsea or wherever it is they come from. Using the detour route, surrounded by buildings screaming with babies trapped in dirty beige brick confinement and single glazed windows. My window. Like my eye. Every time I look out, I search for the acid shot – bubble gum pink and turquoise blue. Squidgy letters makin’ an…eclectic view of incarcerated aesthetics.
Copyright: Victoria. O