My space. Bright sunshine. Car whelping away from the curb. Stirring up dust outside the library. Sunshine between the buildings. Windows reflect office workers out to baguettes in paper bags and carrier bags of goodies from the micromarket. Ritzy pop caffeine high and coffee pannini’s cheese melt with fries and uneaten salad. Tables cluttered with lunch time rush. Tea stains ring serviette balls. Crowded together. Newspapers and magazines. Professional beggars raising money with direct debit mandates and guitars. “Just five pounds a month is nothing.” Paper fluttering stuck in the mouth of a bin. Cigarette smoking crushed out at the door to the arcade. Polished marble composite, chrome and wipe with a yellow cloth pushing the smell of cleaning products on a wheeled cart. Past shops in clothes that don’t fit in seasonal style. The colour of spring in October. Sequins pouring over the rim of a till. Security guards sweep black jacket. Jee-jaws and socks and plate glass lenses to hold back greedy eyes. Today is block paving Thursday. Beer soaked into interlocking bricks and a queue of wasted minutes by the cash point machine. “Big issue?” The arcade’s arched window holds a reflection of blue and clouds in the rooftop opposite. Mobile phone conversations interlink. People talking and not listening. Urgently. Clock watch. Office worker on a tight schedule with a pen from the stationers and a card from the nearest shop. Entrance warm blow swept inside. A thousand sentiments looking for an owner. A mug and miniature bear thought for someone you don’t know. Babble at the crossing sweeps inpatient cars and dominant ambulances. Life in an hour. Workers scurry.
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