Sat on a hard, wooden surface, facing the waves, a groan from the metallic structures at its centre, excited voices all around, a roar in the sky, low sun in my face, wheels rolling on concrete, small beasts cooing at my feet, the wind carrying the hint of mud, exhaust and rotten fish.
Sitting on a bench outside the National Theatre in London, facing Waterloo Bridge, the Thames, tourist noises competing with the helicopter above, late Monday afternoon, then he crosses my view and I snap a picture.
The shadow of a toddler stumbling towards the railings.
YOU ARE READING
At the Gym with Allen GinsbergRandom
"I really would like to stop working forever-never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I'm doing now-and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I'd like to keep l...