No sky


Looking down at my bright green socks, I think of Kerouac on Desolation.

When we step outside, there is nothing above us.

Nothing at all.

Just an Infinity of emptiness.

For some reason, this makes me cry.



I keep seeing these ghosts. What would they think of me now?  Of what I’m doing? Of this whole world I inhabit? It scares me to think. Alan.  Ex-Tottenham Hotspur, York City and milkman.  Chain-smoking Embassy Regal and the reason I’ve still got … Continue reading