STRANGE DAY IN BRIXTON
30 April 2008
Twisting markets, shop signage dating back to the 50s.
Some shops so small only the shop keeper could sit, not stand inside.
Their wares hung around them.
Caribbean fabric shops, shoe shops, religious shops - Catholic I think. Prayer cards and rosaries.
Incense shops, perfume shops, tropical fruit shops.
"Blessed" West Indian take away. Wigs, do-rags, braids, corn rolls, relaxers for £15.
Meat shops. It was the meat shops. No all of it, mixed together. Fruits in front of meat next to shoes. But the stench of the meat shops... the chickens hanging skinned with feathers still on their crown. The massive bin of cow legs with hooves in tact that sat under the corner of the awning where the rain dripped and the pool of water in the street collected. Bloody ribcages and the snap of cleaver against bone. For blocks. Halal!
The doorway I ducked into to roll a cigarette smelled like piss and human shit covered the wall. The rain was decidedly not so bad.
The girl that followed me for ages, my age and half my size "Can you spare a pound? I just need to eat."
The rasta in a wheelchair with a full body and shrunken legs.
The dude who asked me for a light while he was standing at the bank machine on the street. I said "Sure." He: "You have an accent, where are you from?" Me: "Canada." He: "I have relatives in Toronto." Me: "Oh." He: "Can you go to Canada with a criminal record?" Me thinking... can I have my lighter back now? Me saying: "I don't know." Thinking more: I need to get out of here. He: "Hey, do you want to come to my house for a drink? My mates are there, it's just around the corner."
It was 11:00 in the morning....
