off-the-wallflower child

When I see little black birds on overheard power lines, they sit and stare at each other in, I imagine, serious discussion. I wonder, do they envy the chugging country train as much as I envy their wings? I doubt it. Because when they leap off the electric wires and feel the rush of wind through their feathers and bite their eyes in glorious beauty they realise with me how my lazy feet long to leave the ground for the sky.

'Literally', like 'ironically' has suffered in the mouths of the handicapped English.

The dark room alit with beautiful dim amber lights that stroked the wood floors and surf boards and old wallpaper, the smell of new flannel and jeans, the smile of the beautiful boy behind the counter and the large potraits of half-naked bodies that groped the wall suggestively. It was perfect.

I am young and restless! Like the perpetual opera!

Olvera Street is a beautiful place. The spicy aroma of Mexico and the spicy rhythm of Spain... Surround the ancient town. People gather in the alley market at dusk. Around aglow stone Latin kings. Aglow from dim red and dim yellow lights... Dim red and dim yellow lights... Surround the ancient town centre. And behind an 18th century hotel. People crowd the small alley market at dusk. To sit with stone Latin kings to gossip, eat, laugh, dance. They were free. I looked in forlorn envy as the sun set in... The Village of Our Lady, the Queen of the Angels of the River of Porziuncola.

Venice Beach, California not Venice, Italia. The people were on their feet, rollerblades, skateboards, and bicycles. They dressed awkwardly, care-freely and carelessly, eccentrically and eclectically. The beach smelt stale and fresh, stalls littered the dirty-yellow sand, an old hostel served cold beer and barbeque burgers, a greasy-haired busker sang hard rock songs on his old guitar and graffiti aged the pier walls. The day was hot, the sun was shining and I left my heart in Venice Beach.

Deux femmes Chinoises petites, l'une avec un parapluie jaune vif, une avec un parapluie rouge vif.

And Every Breath You Take plays on the car stereo. I love nights like this. It is cold, warm, wet and The Police sings throatily about desperate love.

"As the clock struck midnight, [they] took their positions on the dais and watched the lowering of the Union Jack and the hoisting of the Nigerian flag... And so ended 100 years of British rule... 100 years of colonial bondage... A nation conceived in faith and unity is born today... And I am happy. And I am sobbing..." Babatunde Jose, Daily Times, 1 October, 1960