Too late to get stuck in a crowded bus of eager youths,
Awaiting the atmosphere of the intoxication machines that are clubs.
And too early to get caught up in their drunken antic
As they try to make their way home, or in that general direction anyway.
The perfect time to share company with
The homeless guy living in the bus shelter by night.
By day his whereabouts are unknown.
I sit, catching the silence of the road under the glare of yellow street lights.
Taking the time to read the graffiti, which someone took the time to write.
'Welcum 2 Da Endz'
'Da Endz' of spelling and civilised society by the look of things.
'Derek P Luvs Tracy'
'Luvs' her so much he got her pregnant aged 14.
Then finally I find bemusement at why, every week, the council keep replacing
The glass to the shelter. Knowing it will get smashed again within twenty four hours.
Then I think the same for the phone box twenty yards away
As I stare at the wire which used to hold a phone.
And try to make out the graffiti on that as well.
'Welcum 2 Da...'
