A rebel without a clue.

M onkey puzzle trees right, left and left left. A solitary weeping willow too. Arranged around the Eastgate/Quarryhill roundabout, which is now disused where once there were fountains and before that a Fina Garage. I am travelling back towards Wetherby on the 3rd of May and I am telling myself I need to visit Mind, the mental health charity, on Kirkstall Lane, and I must venture there soon. This bus always takes the same forsaken route to get out of Leeds; with its bland 'To Let' bulldozed wastelands, low rise warehousing with its pulled down shutters and a Nissan flagship and another few dozen flurried showrooms which are so out of place in this cheap rent part of Leeds. Where the very nature itself springs from the roofs of too often forgotten Victoriana: Tailors', Machinists' and Pressers' Trade Union on Cross Stamford Street . From behind me on the bus I hear the sound of second hand 'r n b', the dumb and chavie youths music of distinction, but ...

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...