I miss the touch. That is what I think as I stare past the glass into the nursery. The carefully ordered squares of wildflowers beyond do not, I imagine, stare back. If they did, I’m sure it would be with narrowed eyes and venomous thoughts.
Read MoreI was running late for my own death. All the hire bikes were taken so I had to walk. Along the towpath to Angel, I peered into the canal, empty but for the congealed sludge at the bottom with the odd shopping trolley and hubcap emerging out of it. I imagined the canal suddenly filling up again and a narrow boat appearing that would take me out of this city prison and into the edgelands, all the way to Silva.
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