The Pure Life of Dreams

June 22, 2022October 22, 2022

A Work Trilogy: Interviewing for a New Opportunity

I had a bit of time so I thought I would go see the hippos.

Through the window I could see a snout on a table but that was it. To the right was the door to get in but when I knocked no one answered. I looked again through the thick plate glass. Maybe I should knock louder, so I did.

And the door slid open.

Inside the small room there was a young woman who tended the animals, and a boy and his dad. I reached over and petted the hippo, stroked his furry grey back. Then after the woman lifted the young hippo gently and lowered him to the floor, the four of us observed him slide around on his belly. His feet were thick wide flippers and he waddled across the slippery tiles. Ungainly he looked, like a platypus.

“What brings you here?” the woman asked.

“I had a bit of time,” I replied, “So I thought I would stop in at the zoo.”

At the back of the enclosure and in another room, there was a place to order a drink. I stepped through to see a few people milled around the bar. And a man who had just flown in made me his friend.

“Let me buy you a beer,” he said as he backslapped me. But I did not have the time, I thought.

“Ok,” I said reluctantly. He was from Belgium and was fat with a white shirt untucked. But he was friendly. So I drank his beer.

And then once I’d done that, he said, “Another?”

This time I really didn’t have time, but before I could say no, he’d got a new round anyway.

He stepped away to talk to someone else and when he returned to the bar, I said, “No really, I have no time.”

I gave him a 20 dollar bill to get out of there.

I was going to walk and I was already late. Besides, the boy had left his father and was following me, was holding me up. What it really the same boy?

“Hey, I don’t want you to follow me.” I said down to him, but if I cut through UCL I would make it in time for the interview.

The day was sunny, bright. Better to walk than to to take the train, I thought, so I set off on a brisk clip through the unversity grounds.

Where was this place? I could see it on the map but when I reached the square with the gold buildings, with the café that sold cakes, that was right next door to the office, I still could not be sure it was the right place.

Koros, I think, was the name of the company; and it did not quite look the same as on the map but that was surely it. It had the right logo, a black trident on the gold trim that lined the square, so it had to be it.

And then the boy was still following me, so what was I going to do with him?

He was already feisty and when we went through the café, I wanted to get rid of him there and then, but he still refused to go. Instead he would hang closer when I tried to leave.

I could buy him a pastry but that would make him worse for the sugar rush.

Maybe he could stay in the lobby of the office. Then I remembered Adam V knew me already and would probably be fine with him.

If the boy could just sit down for two minutes, it might be ok.

Photo by Joe Shlabotnik via Flickr

May 4, 2022July 26, 2025

Jamal Ahmad was Shot Dead in the Age of Gentrification

I dream that I am crossing the road using the pedestrian bridge. It climbs high to clear the noisy traffic below and is all grey steel and yellow girders, clanging with my steps.

It was where Jamal Ahmad was shot dead. I have the magazine article about the unjust killing of a black man in my jacket pocket, rolled up .

There is menace in the air and a number of parades are scheduled for commemoration and protest.

As I exit the other end of the pedestrian bridge several black youths are coming the other way along the footpath. They climb the steps, and scatter; they push their way past me, and start to holler. I don’t know how to express sympathy without seeming churlish.

But I need to get back home, and so I take a short cut through the shopping mall. The back way cuts through a pub that is thick with smoke and the smell of day old booze. Wooden panels and TV screens; it looks like Celtic are playing, maybe with Rangers, but I can’t see the score.

I could have a drink. There is a full pint of lager on the counter in a tall glass, but I think better of it and exit the back way, through a corridor into the hotel. And the hotel is newly done up with bright yellow walls and black moldings. Sleek black furnishings, oversized leather couches and side tables are arranged across white tile.

As it is early in the morning only one half of the lobby is lit and the lights are still off on the far side. I remember when it used to be a department store; Marks and Sparks, 70s decor, long overdue for a refurbishment. Then I exit through the swing doors at the front and am back on the high street.

A parade is walking by in memory of the shooting. We gather by the side as the parade comes close. The parade occupies the width of the road and I want to take a photo but am not sure it is a good idea. Plus a very fat woman in grey track suit is in the front bearing down on us, and it won’t make for a good photo. Behind me I catch another bystander taking a photo so I turn back to the parade and snap one anyway.

The parade passes by me and at the end of the line is the coffin, white, close enough to touch, and held up by three men either side. I see only their hands grip the base and I feel my tears well up. But a black man comes up to me. I can’t tell whether he is about to threaten me.

“Yeah I know,” I say, but I don’t really know what to say and I start to cry. Another man dances past me, spiky Afro hair that springs as he moves.

“How’d he die? Did he get away before he fell?’ He asks to no one in particular.

And after the parade has gone by I cross the road; it marks the way home though I don’t recognize any of it. It has changed so much since I lived there.

I am lost but for an instant, when I see the Uxbridge Road. It is now a covered plaza, with sleek metal beams on the roof and on the road. It is a pedestrian only area, it looks nice, newly done; but it is still not clear where I am.

Looking in the other direction, there are more new buildings that I do not recognize. I turn the other way and around the north east corner, coming into view, is the old St. Peter’s church. That’s the way.

At least old buildings can’t be got rid of so easily. And can help you navigate the way.

Photo by Chad Davis via Flickr

March 5, 2022April 11, 2025

The Woman in Blue

Elaine and I are going to a party and she is bringing a friend that she wants me to meet.

We leave her flat in the Rockhart Estate and walk along the top floor balcony to a urine stained stairwell. And as we step down to the next floor the woman appears. She has long straight black hair, black heels and bare legs despite the cool air. And she wears a deep blue silk dress, flared at the hem.

Elaine says, “Here’s my brother from across the pond.” And the three of us continue down together.

February 4, 2022March 20, 2024

Grey Street, Grey Stores and What is Reel

Grey streets, grey stores and what is reel

I am in an open top convertible, silver, driving along a deserted street on the way to Mum and Mao Senior’s house. Or is it to my own?

There is nothing on the street. No people, no other cars, everything is grey with a thin film of dust, the skyscrapers in the distance, the strip malls, even the road itself. Until I see the bright lit yellow sign of a liquor store coming up on the right.

October 22, 2021October 22, 2022

Don’t Bring Your Laundry to a Party

I am with a platinum blonde, bolt straight hair, almost silver in color, cut in a bob. She is thin and tall, has a soft pouty face. We are having a party in my apartment. A good view of the city. I sense she is a little bored; of the party, or of the guests, or perhaps she is not into me as much as I am into her. Siobhan is there, as well as Nena’s friends. The woman is leaning against a doorway, surveying the room and I look up at her.

You. Are. Gorgeous, I tell her. She instantly brightens up, gives me a wide smile.

Let’s have some Pimms and take a bath, she announces.