Betting shops, fried chicken shops.
Drove from K to D. Depressing terraced houses, tightly packed in. No horizon.
Read an annoying book on anarchism. Feel like anarchism doesn’t take into account the curve in the universe. The ethnographic reality of life in techno-industrial Britain.
A reality that is about the conservative realities of life. Where to put those boxes. When to pay that bill. Which resort to choose for our fortnight away. A grim reality that can’t be changed by tattooed teenagers singing ‘occupy’. A world of mortgage debt slavery and red-brick hell that can’t be erased.
This town is so down to earth ordinary people direct the traffic.