Oddball pub in the heart of Soho. Serves Italian food but reminds me, with the oil can ads on the wall, of greasy spoon bars in the Midwest. And it is a gay patrons establishment, with Karaoke on the weekends.
In a doorway near Oxford Circus…
Bicycle messengers lounge around waiting to score a gig.
The next morning they were edged out by thousands of little girls lined up
to audition for the Sound of Music.
In the Paris Metro…
I can’t understand how he can possibly look so unhappy.
You don’t think anything can look like this, or be this lovely.
But suddenly, it is everywhere.
The dampness, the coolness, the green thumbs.