Snapshots of the City

(bang) I stand on the train. The girl opposite me has a light blue top, a low, diving v-neck, the pale skin of her chest displayed, three lines, three birds, the simple lines of a child's drawing tattooed onto her white skin. (bang) A bum sits on the pavement in Knightsbridge, surrounded by sleeping bags and carboard. He swigs Verve Cliqout from the bottle. (bang) Brompton Oratory, a woman, forty, sits, weeping silently into her thick brown curled hair, shoulders shaking, body quaking. (bang) A man steps on the train, Joe Pesci with brown hair, tightly coiled wiry brillo pad hair. He looks nervous. (bang) A small child dangles from his hand gripped tightly by his mother as they watch a brown-toothed brown-coated thin-haired grey-man play saxophone to amped up muzak. The boy swirls his thin floppy blonde hair and his mother bites her lip. (bang)