Icy Windows
A sunday away from the city is always something to be sucked into your pleasure cortex with a flavourful breath of lighter air.
Board, batten and red brick line the streets.
Smells of curry powder and thyme bring in you in, sit you down and warm up your soul.
Guitars tune and sheets shuffle as a pros and amateurs get ready to strut their stuff at an open mic.
Through the icy windows, I see nowhere I'd rather be in this ever-fading moment.
