Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I'm standing on Holloway Road at 11:35 in the morning. To my right is a petrol station that, approximately two months ago was converted into a car park. There is a party balloon with 'Welcome Home' in yellow, friendly letters that has escaped from somewhere and has found it's way to the forecourt. It drifts around the cars, it's string hanging down like the single remaining tentacle of a Man O' War. It manages one complete circuit of the outside of the forecourt and then, on it's second orbit, a man comes out from the office where motorists would go to pay for their petrol and catches it by the string.


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