7:45 to Pimlico

The train zips past stations shut during the recession I can’t tell you which one – there’ve been so many Commuters sit stock-still guarding their personal space A weary woman chews strong mints, another asleep to the side I forget myself. The skies break into grey, brollies on the ready People rush past, primed to… Read More 7:45 to Pimlico


The leaves flicker in the breeze, in this town of desolate ship yards Cardboard boxes and incomplete letters, empty bottles and prescriptions lost, windows of wood shut in the dark Threatening clouds part – music playing disturbs this sleep of no tomorrows. There is the briefest whisper of movement, puppies stir in makeshift dens.