A rebel without a clue.

A trail of destruction was almost complete as I set foot on threshold of the secondhand bookseller. In I walked with my Vango 70 + 10(without the 10) for to seek Orwell or Asimov, Dick, Baxter, Pratchett or Greene. When the wench spotted my weight she trembled that I was a bull made man as I swung like an elephant trunk my soiled laundry filled backpack to peruse the stacks and rows of yellowing penguin classics and Cornish tales. When I asked her where or whence the sci-fi was it appeared up a ramshackle wooded stair. 'I can't manage that with this bag' 'you old man' she exclaimed 'leave it down here' ask she desperate for sales encouraged me. I thought about the book I had already got and the time I had left before the 9:53 back towards Leeds and I realized I hadn't the time to ascend there: it wasn't heaven me thinks? So I lingered a while on the ground and saw Greene, Galsworthy and Hardy arranged left to right and as I around the central shelvin...

I left the flat for Starbucks, on Street Lane, but I had to leave very shortly after only a solitary grande mug of their Café Estima Blend® and a brownie. Suffering from no internet I walked back to the flat through what I have decided to call 'dogshit alley' on the Roman's Estate. It is called The Romans locally, but its actually turn of the 20th century suburbia which becomes a 1950's council estate in the north end before trailing off into a mucky park known locally as The Bumps where there is more of the sporadic dog shit; I live on the otherside. I don't think calling it the Roman's does it any justice as it feels foetid and dirty, unusually for Roundhay it is more Gypsy than Ravenna. Personally I have no issues with using parks perimeters/edges as dumping grounds for dog faeces, but I hate having to hop along a path between steaming piles, from gap to gap, hoping I haven't missed one that will lead to a comical end (back in 1985 I remember falling ...