Idiot B - The story continues

Smudges of cloud like dirty candy floss scudded below the level of his Wandsworth high rise – strange to be up in the heavens yet dwarfed by other buildings around. He had often wondered what it would be like if the elevator transport broke down and a shopping laden stair climb to floor ad-infinitum lay in wait.

But he liked his new home…..blue and white as were all the new protrusions from South West Londinium. It was also surprisingly quiet when one considered the crossfire of Heathrow and South Circular…….heading all points west and freedom from urban tentacles.

Although he enjoyed the culture mix, Wandsworth was cosmopolitan to the extreme, the most common voices heard seemed to be of indeterminate Eastern Europe…..he wondered how many such people should legally be here and how many were shipped human cargo underground Eurostar skirts bound for their very own Waterloo sunset. The only downside to this ..for he would not allow racism to cloud any judgement, was a genuine language problem….where English was not the mainstream spoken tongue. The guy who cut his hair was Lebanese, his body artist , for he had found new direction in tattoo…was from Brazil………..