CSI Walworth
COLD OPEN:
[EXT. VARIOUS Walworth Road and Elephant & Castle (STOCK) - NIGHT]
[EXT. Walworth Road COMMUNITY (STOCK) - NIGHT]
WHITE FLASH TO:
SCENE #01:
[EXT. Blockbusters Walworth Road - DAY]
(Camera opens on a Securico Van pulling up outside Blockbusters. The first officer gets out and gets into the back. Second officer walks round to the back of the van.)
(Camera pushes in slowly to the hatch at the back of the van.)
(Officer inside the van pushes the box of money into the hatch.)
(Suddenly, a man runs up behind the officer receiving the money box, grabs the box and runs off down the road.)
(The officer takes chase.)
CUE SOUND: (PRELAP) POLICE SIREN WAILING
HARD CUT TO:
END OF TEASER
ROLL TITLE CREDITS
SCENE #02:
[EXT. Blockbusters Walworth Road - DAY -- CONTINUOUS]
(Emergency tape surrounds the scene and 3 police officers guard Blockbusters and the Securico van.)
(CSInvestigator in a stripy shirt and purple rubber gloves dusts the hatch of the van for fingerprints.)
(People of Walworth stream past the van)
CUT TO:
Council workers cling to the window watching the Securico van as if taking a Diet Coke break...
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Saturday, 21 February 2009
Shopping
I need:
I need:
- Lightbulb for cooker hood (although I have many in the lightbulb drawer, none of them is exactly right to fit and work in the cooker hood - I need a small screw with a slightly more pointy end than the ones I have)
- Starflower oil suppliments (hoping to get ones this time that are not the size of horse tablets)
Bigger picture
The things that are giving me the most pleasure at the moment are the details, little things. Watching the birds in the morning flying across the garden, and the two blue tits eating seeds out of a half coconut, blackbirds washing in the birdbath, next door's cat leaping up the fence to find his spot on the shed roof, 1st floor detailing on buildings on the bus journey to the tube, coffee and walnut cake, slightly warmer weather - not feling freezing waiting for the bus, comfort of sleeping in the middle of the bed...
The trouble with it is that when I can't see the bigger picture I can't switch off the brain as easily.
The things that are giving me the most pleasure at the moment are the details, little things. Watching the birds in the morning flying across the garden, and the two blue tits eating seeds out of a half coconut, blackbirds washing in the birdbath, next door's cat leaping up the fence to find his spot on the shed roof, 1st floor detailing on buildings on the bus journey to the tube, coffee and walnut cake, slightly warmer weather - not feling freezing waiting for the bus, comfort of sleeping in the middle of the bed...
The trouble with it is that when I can't see the bigger picture I can't switch off the brain as easily.
Friday, 20 February 2009
Home again
Sometimes my favourite thing is to get home, lock the door behind me and bask in the warmth behind the closed off windows away from the madness in the street. To get away from the pick pockets, the madness of shrieking girls thrown out of school, smelly people, the crush of the tube, the sounds, other people's conversations.
Sometimes my favourite thing is to get home, lock the door behind me and bask in the warmth behind the closed off windows away from the madness in the street. To get away from the pick pockets, the madness of shrieking girls thrown out of school, smelly people, the crush of the tube, the sounds, other people's conversations.
Thursday, 12 February 2009
Snivel
Being disgusted by the sniffing symphonies of commuters. Clearly nobody travels with hankies any more (I think my dad may be the last person I know to always have a hankie with him - a real cloth one, folded just so, soft from use) and people's hands, feet and noses are cold in the freezing conditions. I sat between two men sniffing in slightly different rhythms this morning. I'm feeling its a citizenly gesture to carry a tissue at least to blow ones nose with rather than sniffing.
Being disgusted by the sniffing symphonies of commuters. Clearly nobody travels with hankies any more (I think my dad may be the last person I know to always have a hankie with him - a real cloth one, folded just so, soft from use) and people's hands, feet and noses are cold in the freezing conditions. I sat between two men sniffing in slightly different rhythms this morning. I'm feeling its a citizenly gesture to carry a tissue at least to blow ones nose with rather than sniffing.
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Late on the Snow News
I've been holed up at the Church Street Hotel in Camberwell in anticipation of our impending inspection (in order to be close to the venue rather than struggling in on the tube). As it turned out we were stuck in the hotel after the BIG SNOW fell (yes, those of you in Russia, Canada, North USA, Germany, Finland, and everywhere else that gets snow regularly, we know its confounding how pathetic we are!). I had failed to bring any appropriate footwear to the hotel with me. The inspection was postponed, there were no buses across London, we walked evenutally from the hotel to work (I had wedge platform shoes with cut out sides - I was embarrassed to be one of those women who struggle through the snow in stupid shoes, suprisingly they were quite grippy though) - about 10 of us made it in. Pretty though.
I've been holed up at the Church Street Hotel in Camberwell in anticipation of our impending inspection (in order to be close to the venue rather than struggling in on the tube). As it turned out we were stuck in the hotel after the BIG SNOW fell (yes, those of you in Russia, Canada, North USA, Germany, Finland, and everywhere else that gets snow regularly, we know its confounding how pathetic we are!). I had failed to bring any appropriate footwear to the hotel with me. The inspection was postponed, there were no buses across London, we walked evenutally from the hotel to work (I had wedge platform shoes with cut out sides - I was embarrassed to be one of those women who struggle through the snow in stupid shoes, suprisingly they were quite grippy though) - about 10 of us made it in. Pretty though.
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
After work
Long day at work. On the bus at 9.45pm couldn't face going home and cooking. Dropped into Pizza Express instead. Table for one. Got my book out to while away the time between the order and arrival of the food. The waitress chatted about books. She suggested reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres, encouraging me to get through the first 2/3 chapters (boring bits of history apparently). She was studenty and excitable. Not sure if she just didn't want me to feel lonely. It was nice. She forgot to add my water (bottled) to the bill of £5.75, so I gave her a £2 tip. I hoped she didn't get into trouble with her boss for talking too much. A French woman was talking too loudly to her boyfriend. As the customers thinned out, the background hubbub died down, she became more instrusive.
I sat behind a man whose hair was purposefully greasy. It stank. When he got off I almost expected him to be a tramp but he wasn't - a respectable wool coat, nice jeans, sweater and shirt.
We can't call a tramp a tramp anymore in our PC work world (we need to be inclusive rather than judgemental and derogative). But in writing it down I wonder if it evokes the same imagery if we say homeless person. Homeless people makes me think of body shapes sleeping in doorways in damp sleeping bags on flattened cardboard boxes. Tramp seems to be more characterful. Or something.
A man comes out of the chicken shop and hands the plastic bag carrying his box of chicken and chips into the mouth of his black labrador. The labrador takes the bag obentiently, doesn't tuck into the box or anything, just holds it off the ground and jogs along side his owner. Eager to please, dogs are.
Long day at work. On the bus at 9.45pm couldn't face going home and cooking. Dropped into Pizza Express instead. Table for one. Got my book out to while away the time between the order and arrival of the food. The waitress chatted about books. She suggested reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres, encouraging me to get through the first 2/3 chapters (boring bits of history apparently). She was studenty and excitable. Not sure if she just didn't want me to feel lonely. It was nice. She forgot to add my water (bottled) to the bill of £5.75, so I gave her a £2 tip. I hoped she didn't get into trouble with her boss for talking too much. A French woman was talking too loudly to her boyfriend. As the customers thinned out, the background hubbub died down, she became more instrusive.
I sat behind a man whose hair was purposefully greasy. It stank. When he got off I almost expected him to be a tramp but he wasn't - a respectable wool coat, nice jeans, sweater and shirt.
We can't call a tramp a tramp anymore in our PC work world (we need to be inclusive rather than judgemental and derogative). But in writing it down I wonder if it evokes the same imagery if we say homeless person. Homeless people makes me think of body shapes sleeping in doorways in damp sleeping bags on flattened cardboard boxes. Tramp seems to be more characterful. Or something.
A man comes out of the chicken shop and hands the plastic bag carrying his box of chicken and chips into the mouth of his black labrador. The labrador takes the bag obentiently, doesn't tuck into the box or anything, just holds it off the ground and jogs along side his owner. Eager to please, dogs are.
Saturday, 24 January 2009
Journey Home
In the dark of the early evening in a bus winging its way northwards. The streets are bathed in the particular light pools that streetlamps provide. Away from the crowds of Oxford Street, past the eastern end where all the businesses are boarded up. Past the shops closing up for the evening, security staff guarding the doors as the last customer purchases are rung through the tills. Past the large darkened buildings on Euston Road - municiple Camden Council Buildings, closed offices. Occassionally a pub emitting yellowy light from windows, a couple of the clientele standing outside smoking. Into the bright shabbiness of Kings Cross (still the south side of Euston Road remains largely untouched by the regeneration) - all illuminated fast food joints.
An elderly man walks purposesfully, while keeping steadfastly to the shop-edge of the pavement. He holds his over-large suit jacket close around him. He has no trousers or socks though.
Crawling up Pentoville Road. Roadworks at the top of the hill hold us up. Trees are bare - upper branches in the dark above the streetlight.
In the dark of the early evening in a bus winging its way northwards. The streets are bathed in the particular light pools that streetlamps provide. Away from the crowds of Oxford Street, past the eastern end where all the businesses are boarded up. Past the shops closing up for the evening, security staff guarding the doors as the last customer purchases are rung through the tills. Past the large darkened buildings on Euston Road - municiple Camden Council Buildings, closed offices. Occassionally a pub emitting yellowy light from windows, a couple of the clientele standing outside smoking. Into the bright shabbiness of Kings Cross (still the south side of Euston Road remains largely untouched by the regeneration) - all illuminated fast food joints.
An elderly man walks purposesfully, while keeping steadfastly to the shop-edge of the pavement. He holds his over-large suit jacket close around him. He has no trousers or socks though.
Crawling up Pentoville Road. Roadworks at the top of the hill hold us up. Trees are bare - upper branches in the dark above the streetlight.
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Pigeon Man
On the tube, standing, crowded between people. He kept looking all around, persistently changing where his eyes were directed. Head back, nose forward, peeking out from almost closed eyelids. Couldn't decide whether he was really tired or wearing varifocals and only looking out of the bottom third of his glasses.
On the tube, standing, crowded between people. He kept looking all around, persistently changing where his eyes were directed. Head back, nose forward, peeking out from almost closed eyelids. Couldn't decide whether he was really tired or wearing varifocals and only looking out of the bottom third of his glasses.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Students
Elephant and Castle, Northern Line exit, 10.00am. Crowd of students waiting to get up to street level. Noticeable by their youthful trendiness (skinny jeans, day glo, big hair, stripey socks, all stars or ugg boots), or their europeanesse. I suspect they are traipsing over to the London College of Communication fashion or graphics departments. I followed a person up to the lifts wearing a moth eaten red fox fur coat, and a forties hair do complete with hairnet (front part of the hair wavy around the face, back part of the hair in the net). As I passed her by she changed from an elderly eccentric trapped in her youth, to a youth, clearly flowing against the tide at college and choosing an altogether different style. I did wonder if it was granny's coat.
Elephant and Castle, Northern Line exit, 10.00am. Crowd of students waiting to get up to street level. Noticeable by their youthful trendiness (skinny jeans, day glo, big hair, stripey socks, all stars or ugg boots), or their europeanesse. I suspect they are traipsing over to the London College of Communication fashion or graphics departments. I followed a person up to the lifts wearing a moth eaten red fox fur coat, and a forties hair do complete with hairnet (front part of the hair wavy around the face, back part of the hair in the net). As I passed her by she changed from an elderly eccentric trapped in her youth, to a youth, clearly flowing against the tide at college and choosing an altogether different style. I did wonder if it was granny's coat.
Friday, 16 January 2009
Fame
Browsing the cheap DVDs at the supermarket I came across Fame. I loved it when I was a kid. It was exciting, dramatic, different to my boring school life. So I came home and put it on the and lo! but here was Dr Romano from ER when he was a very young with lots of hair. Still like the movie. Probably because its a part of my youth history, rather than it being a terrifically good film.
Its got the excitement of self discovery as you grow into what you want to do, the pain, loneliness, waiting for things to happen, wild life to find you or you to find it, and then it occasionally does. Then there was the Rocky Horror Picture Show scene with Tim Curry watching in his Frank N Furter costume, and an audience full of goths all dressed up reciting the words.
Browsing the cheap DVDs at the supermarket I came across Fame. I loved it when I was a kid. It was exciting, dramatic, different to my boring school life. So I came home and put it on the and lo! but here was Dr Romano from ER when he was a very young with lots of hair. Still like the movie. Probably because its a part of my youth history, rather than it being a terrifically good film.
Its got the excitement of self discovery as you grow into what you want to do, the pain, loneliness, waiting for things to happen, wild life to find you or you to find it, and then it occasionally does. Then there was the Rocky Horror Picture Show scene with Tim Curry watching in his Frank N Furter costume, and an audience full of goths all dressed up reciting the words.
Friday, 9 January 2009
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
The Perils of Long Hair
I have long curly hair. Well I say long, actually, if we're splitting hairs its actually mid-length. I don't brush it because if I do it gets fuzzy and fly-away. Much better to wash it regularly and condition the knots out of it. The bad thing is that I molt quite badly in the bath.
The boyfiend popped in the bath water after me the other day. After a while he called me to come and look at something. When I got there he demonstrated some very impressive penis puppetry using a string of hair that had become wrapped around the end. He wasn't amused. I tried not to laugh. Honestly. But it is hard to take someone seriously when they are naked, floating in the bath and performing tricks with their willy (even if those are not really intentional but intended to demonstrate how awful it is to have to bathe with all the loose hairs).
I have long curly hair. Well I say long, actually, if we're splitting hairs its actually mid-length. I don't brush it because if I do it gets fuzzy and fly-away. Much better to wash it regularly and condition the knots out of it. The bad thing is that I molt quite badly in the bath.
The boyfiend popped in the bath water after me the other day. After a while he called me to come and look at something. When I got there he demonstrated some very impressive penis puppetry using a string of hair that had become wrapped around the end. He wasn't amused. I tried not to laugh. Honestly. But it is hard to take someone seriously when they are naked, floating in the bath and performing tricks with their willy (even if those are not really intentional but intended to demonstrate how awful it is to have to bathe with all the loose hairs).
Thursday, 1 January 2009
New Year Fireworks 2009
Happy New Year!
"I've got to hold on", he said taking a large handful of her satin-encased bottom. She shaped her very-red lips into a mock oo and carried on chatting to her friend, reaching out and adjusting the feather in her hair. A jolly time. Squeezed into the 243 winging its way towards town. The bus driver was very fond of his message buttons, particularly the please do not stand on the upper deck or stairs, which he replayed over and over until the offending passengers realised that meant them.
All the cool kids were going to Old Street - different cliques dressed in their own style. Passing old haunts and wishing I was actually going to one of them. It gave me a twinge of feeling old before my time. Urge to go clubbing, dancing all night, meeting new people. Instead I had the brilliant idea to go and watch the fireworks on the Thames. Arranged to meet the boyfiend at Waterloo, bus chucked us off at Holborn, walked down Kingsway, cut off at the bridge (shut for crowds) and headed off towards Blackfriars.
Finally made it to that bridge along with thousands of others (for a while it felt like going to the most massive flashmob) and by midnight was crushed on a pathway that was still attempting to move despite there being no where to go, when the fireworks started and were out of sight around the corner of a building. One drunk group opened their beers after shaking them up - spraying everywhere. Another youth was telling his mate that if anyone else shoved him he was going to elbow them in the face. I decided to leave.
The boyfiend was chucked off his train at Charing Cross and didn't make it to the fireworks either. Heading back home we stopped in a pub that had hired the typical crap-wedding DJ and was playing a Bucks Fizz track - we didn't stay. Waiting at the bus stop there was a third floor flat holding a party playing music off the balcony, occassionally someone would lean out the window and shout Happy New Year! This, it turned out, was the best our new year party would get!
So anyway, wishing you all the best for the new year. Happy 2009!
Happy New Year!
"I've got to hold on", he said taking a large handful of her satin-encased bottom. She shaped her very-red lips into a mock oo and carried on chatting to her friend, reaching out and adjusting the feather in her hair. A jolly time. Squeezed into the 243 winging its way towards town. The bus driver was very fond of his message buttons, particularly the please do not stand on the upper deck or stairs, which he replayed over and over until the offending passengers realised that meant them.
All the cool kids were going to Old Street - different cliques dressed in their own style. Passing old haunts and wishing I was actually going to one of them. It gave me a twinge of feeling old before my time. Urge to go clubbing, dancing all night, meeting new people. Instead I had the brilliant idea to go and watch the fireworks on the Thames. Arranged to meet the boyfiend at Waterloo, bus chucked us off at Holborn, walked down Kingsway, cut off at the bridge (shut for crowds) and headed off towards Blackfriars.
Finally made it to that bridge along with thousands of others (for a while it felt like going to the most massive flashmob) and by midnight was crushed on a pathway that was still attempting to move despite there being no where to go, when the fireworks started and were out of sight around the corner of a building. One drunk group opened their beers after shaking them up - spraying everywhere. Another youth was telling his mate that if anyone else shoved him he was going to elbow them in the face. I decided to leave.
The boyfiend was chucked off his train at Charing Cross and didn't make it to the fireworks either. Heading back home we stopped in a pub that had hired the typical crap-wedding DJ and was playing a Bucks Fizz track - we didn't stay. Waiting at the bus stop there was a third floor flat holding a party playing music off the balcony, occassionally someone would lean out the window and shout Happy New Year! This, it turned out, was the best our new year party would get!
So anyway, wishing you all the best for the new year. Happy 2009!
Monday, 29 December 2008
Christmas passed
After the maniacal build up - all the shopping and crowds and hoopla and parties and spirit - a 10 hour drive up up up the country to Scotland. When we started out I was thinking about who else is going as far as we were. Eating up the miles as tarmac passes under the wheels. The rhythm of the vehicle on the road, extended soft bends of the motorway taken at full speed, smooth surfaces, wide lanes. Newer cars move easily sliding along at 80. Only the tentative keeping to the speed limit, middle lane drivers steady 80s, fast lane way over (which feels different to the last time we drove up a couple of years ago). We only passed one car all the way there and back that had that old car drone of exertion. A beetle - an orange beetle, peddle to the metal, roaring at full capacity, doing 65 as we slid silently past in our comfortable and temperature controlled space listening to the radio and chatting. Reminded me of Georgia's cars - no speed and if there was any speed absolutely no talking could be heard above the roar of the engine.
Was glad to be getting home but since I've been here it feels a bit empty and lonely. Christmas was a crush of eight people in a three bedroom house, presents, cooking (too many chiefs and not enough indians was quite a common occurance), eating, playing games, walks, tantrums (all ages, but more from the children), some sleeping (but not as much as I get at home), tv. Its now the count-down to going back to work. 6 days and counting...
After the maniacal build up - all the shopping and crowds and hoopla and parties and spirit - a 10 hour drive up up up the country to Scotland. When we started out I was thinking about who else is going as far as we were. Eating up the miles as tarmac passes under the wheels. The rhythm of the vehicle on the road, extended soft bends of the motorway taken at full speed, smooth surfaces, wide lanes. Newer cars move easily sliding along at 80. Only the tentative keeping to the speed limit, middle lane drivers steady 80s, fast lane way over (which feels different to the last time we drove up a couple of years ago). We only passed one car all the way there and back that had that old car drone of exertion. A beetle - an orange beetle, peddle to the metal, roaring at full capacity, doing 65 as we slid silently past in our comfortable and temperature controlled space listening to the radio and chatting. Reminded me of Georgia's cars - no speed and if there was any speed absolutely no talking could be heard above the roar of the engine.
Was glad to be getting home but since I've been here it feels a bit empty and lonely. Christmas was a crush of eight people in a three bedroom house, presents, cooking (too many chiefs and not enough indians was quite a common occurance), eating, playing games, walks, tantrums (all ages, but more from the children), some sleeping (but not as much as I get at home), tv. Its now the count-down to going back to work. 6 days and counting...
Monday, 22 December 2008
Christmas at Border's Starbucks
People stake out a place at a clean table - toss the remenants of the previous dweller onto an unoccupied space. A particular man in a beige cap ran back from the queue to chastise a woman putting the remenants from her table onto his (denoted by his scarf draped over the chair of a table that he himself had previously cleared).
Two young women exchange gifts. One has bought the other a book - comedy sketches. She opens it, flicks through it and puts it to one side. She has bought the other a stack of ever-decreasingly sized gifts - four are stacked up. The friend unwraps each one carefully and coes over each revealed thing. There are earrings, and other wearables. Not sure how pleased with a single book the one of many gifts will be.
People stake out a place at a clean table - toss the remenants of the previous dweller onto an unoccupied space. A particular man in a beige cap ran back from the queue to chastise a woman putting the remenants from her table onto his (denoted by his scarf draped over the chair of a table that he himself had previously cleared).
Two young women exchange gifts. One has bought the other a book - comedy sketches. She opens it, flicks through it and puts it to one side. She has bought the other a stack of ever-decreasingly sized gifts - four are stacked up. The friend unwraps each one carefully and coes over each revealed thing. There are earrings, and other wearables. Not sure how pleased with a single book the one of many gifts will be.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
Christmas Season
Ratchetting up to Christmas there have been parties and lunches and endless boxes of quality street in the office. The parties are passing us by (wrong team, wrong management structure) and we're building up to an inspection after Christmas. Nothing quite like it to dampen the Christmas spirit.
After the success of the pumpkin carving I was charged with coming up with a sustainable christmas tree to enter into the departmental contest. 2nd prize this time.
In the shops sales abound and the credit crunch hasn't stopped the shoppers. Crowds, lights, and singing. I can't seem to find a really suitable brother-in-law figt - last year I got him a stunt kite - and its hard to get a better gift than that.
Can't seem to muster the enthusiasm - too much work on and not enough time.
Man standing at the bus stop wearing a top hat and silver glitter shoes.
Someone at the back of the bus is playing rap music out loud. I keep listening to it and its good, rather than irritatingly tinny like mobile music usually is. When the music man gets off the bus is quiet. Sniffly. Hiss of earphones.
Ratchetting up to Christmas there have been parties and lunches and endless boxes of quality street in the office. The parties are passing us by (wrong team, wrong management structure) and we're building up to an inspection after Christmas. Nothing quite like it to dampen the Christmas spirit.After the success of the pumpkin carving I was charged with coming up with a sustainable christmas tree to enter into the departmental contest. 2nd prize this time.
In the shops sales abound and the credit crunch hasn't stopped the shoppers. Crowds, lights, and singing. I can't seem to find a really suitable brother-in-law figt - last year I got him a stunt kite - and its hard to get a better gift than that.
Can't seem to muster the enthusiasm - too much work on and not enough time.
Man standing at the bus stop wearing a top hat and silver glitter shoes.
Someone at the back of the bus is playing rap music out loud. I keep listening to it and its good, rather than irritatingly tinny like mobile music usually is. When the music man gets off the bus is quiet. Sniffly. Hiss of earphones.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Scenic London
Today the people of London were especially filmic. Everywhere there were people who could be followed with the expectation that their life would lead you through a story that wouldn't be out of place in a movie.
Coming down an escalator after a man wearing his hair in purposefully multidirectional peaks, carrying a guitar case. Not a regular sized one, slightly smaller than normal. Pristine. He was careful not to bash it against the sides. Clearly a prized instrument. Off the escalator his shoes clip loudly on the tiled floor. I feel myself running after him as if he's a character in a French film, like Amelie, wanting to see how the story unfolds.
Jamaican woman sitting on the tube creaming her hands - rubbing them together over and over to get it absorbed. The left on has a tatooed skull with a ring over its head and some algerian font writing running up the thumb. Quentin Tarantino would linger on this hand as it engaged in some kind of deal, so that next time the tattoo is seen a little clue will slot into place.
One of those young blond men with red lips stands tall in the middle of the carriage chatting to a friend in tweed. He has grown a beard to add some age to his boyish face. He wears his open collar up. Hairy chest grows up his neck. A fop in a costume drama, not the troubled, dark, but ultimately good lead, but one of the sporty brothers or friends who is always bounding in with gumption to dance, drink or play the piano with aplomb.
Today the people of London were especially filmic. Everywhere there were people who could be followed with the expectation that their life would lead you through a story that wouldn't be out of place in a movie.
Coming down an escalator after a man wearing his hair in purposefully multidirectional peaks, carrying a guitar case. Not a regular sized one, slightly smaller than normal. Pristine. He was careful not to bash it against the sides. Clearly a prized instrument. Off the escalator his shoes clip loudly on the tiled floor. I feel myself running after him as if he's a character in a French film, like Amelie, wanting to see how the story unfolds.
Jamaican woman sitting on the tube creaming her hands - rubbing them together over and over to get it absorbed. The left on has a tatooed skull with a ring over its head and some algerian font writing running up the thumb. Quentin Tarantino would linger on this hand as it engaged in some kind of deal, so that next time the tattoo is seen a little clue will slot into place.
One of those young blond men with red lips stands tall in the middle of the carriage chatting to a friend in tweed. He has grown a beard to add some age to his boyish face. He wears his open collar up. Hairy chest grows up his neck. A fop in a costume drama, not the troubled, dark, but ultimately good lead, but one of the sporty brothers or friends who is always bounding in with gumption to dance, drink or play the piano with aplomb.
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