Has it really been 20 years, 7 months and 27 days since my last post? Jeez, time flies when you're having a(nother) nervous breakdown.
When you have reason to be gazing out of a 2nd floor window in Soho at about 2 a.m. one Wednesday morning, you can see some interesting sights. Like a man and a woman in a doorway, the neon sign above them casting a sickly pool of yellow light at their feet. The man is late twenties, shirt, smart trousers, the crumpled look of an office drone after a mildly raucous work do.
Only he's scoring smack off the woman - at least I think it's smack, I'm no expert - and he's counting out £20 notes while she goes about her business with the tin foil and the lighter. I don't think they know each other but there's a touching sense of collusion in the way they glance round together at the occasional passing car. The transaction completed, they scatter, out of my field of vision. But that's ok. Soon a guy in the street is showing another guy the contents of a plastic bag, and there's more cash being flashed.
This is all too titillating for someone raised in a village in Essex where the most exciting thing that ever happened was The Crystal Maze being filmed in an aircraft hangar up the road.
From the safety of the 2nd floor early yesterday morning, I watched people I would never want to meet doing things I would never want to do, wallowing in the thrill of my seedy, uncut voyeurism. Now, at 1.30am, I wonder if they're out there again. Many miles from Soho, I'm missing them. And missing the person who was beside me in the peeping hour.
When you have reason to be gazing out of a 2nd floor window in Soho at about 2 a.m. one Wednesday morning, you can see some interesting sights. Like a man and a woman in a doorway, the neon sign above them casting a sickly pool of yellow light at their feet. The man is late twenties, shirt, smart trousers, the crumpled look of an office drone after a mildly raucous work do.
Only he's scoring smack off the woman - at least I think it's smack, I'm no expert - and he's counting out £20 notes while she goes about her business with the tin foil and the lighter. I don't think they know each other but there's a touching sense of collusion in the way they glance round together at the occasional passing car. The transaction completed, they scatter, out of my field of vision. But that's ok. Soon a guy in the street is showing another guy the contents of a plastic bag, and there's more cash being flashed.
This is all too titillating for someone raised in a village in Essex where the most exciting thing that ever happened was The Crystal Maze being filmed in an aircraft hangar up the road.
From the safety of the 2nd floor early yesterday morning, I watched people I would never want to meet doing things I would never want to do, wallowing in the thrill of my seedy, uncut voyeurism. Now, at 1.30am, I wonder if they're out there again. Many miles from Soho, I'm missing them. And missing the person who was beside me in the peeping hour.
posted by Gator at 5:19 PM
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