8 January 2013
Punctured bicycle, on a hillside, desolate! “ He sings, at the top of his voice bellowing into the cool night air.
This is the sound of drunken youth, hastily staggering along the sparkling northern streets. The night’s still clinging on as dawn steadily approaches, the mild drizzle of the early hours has left the streets with a sticky sheen. They glisten with the moon and piercing starlight. In some form of beautiful parody, the drunken boy scuffing his way home looks like some effortless dance on the stage of suburbia, under a flooding lunar spotlight.
This Charming Man • Opuss № I