City of the Dead

Lost rivers, a bus ride through London and an awkward post-script, from the country.

A window on West Norwood.

In a hotel in central London, I examined my jawline. It has started to collapse backwards into senescence, as if it’s forgotten how to remain straight and firm.

Being back in London makes me feel old. It’s been a long two years since I left. Fashion seems to have regressed to my childhood.

Things I can’t believe are back: those big, plastic, coloured rings. Safety pin jackets. Low rise bootcut. Platform trainers.