I'm walking through a spent intestine in the corpse of an ancient industrial giant squinting out at the light from the twenty-first century. Walking through tunnel darkness. Towards this hemisphere of light that streams through the grille of steel bars across the entrance. Yes sir. A formidable portcullis. Glowering out into the railway embankment with bared fangs of razorwire curling around the palings. Vines of thorn twisting out from a dark legend.

       Leaves hang heavy out in the cut. Drowsy from the sap on account of the summer drouth. Filthy clouds draw together in a conspiracy of menace then spit lightning then a blast of thunder rattles the sky. Forked tongue and a roar. Rain. Steady beat on the parched embankment rises to a frenzied drum solo on leaves and pathways and soon puddles. A great hissing thrumming deluge. Bastardo! Out yonder's the park then the boulevard beyond I'm hearing traffic drone then the wash of the wheels on flooded tarmac. Regular like waves on the shore. Mhm Yes Sir Oh. The expedition to the shops is out of the question. So stand awhile looking out. Dropping the jangle of keys I've held in palm clutch for the last fifty paces back into a deep outer pocket of the trusty langcoat. Then guddle among the gallery of inside pockets for the smoke tackle rolling up a thin-ee with a liquorice paper and a crumb of dry baccy from a corner of the tin. Low. When I go reach in for the tinder my crooked arm releases a pocket of stale air from an oxter so's I can smell me for a moment. Whoof. Howlin. Gad. I was needing a bath. Bad style aye mister. A big hot soaking steaming bath. Maybe even two. The rain still dinging it and for a sec I was considering getting raw bollock nae-kit and going out there into it for a shower a right good soak. Na na. I'd probly end up with the heebjeebs or the dreaded lergy or the flumonia. Probably all three. Fate's hand. A prile of diseases. Just smoke the rollie-fag then head back to the doss. The auberge.