Around the corner is a coffee-house, with men standing on the pavement outside, talking in a different language. He grins and nods at Lexie as she passes and she smiles back. A man in a white apron is standing on the doorstep, shouting something in a foreign language to a woman with a baby across the street. She walks past a shop with cheeses, big as wheels, stacked in the window. The woman in the window pauses with her watering. Her shoes make a clear toc-toc sound as she walks. She has the odd sensation that she is motionless, that the pavement is moving under her and that the houses and buildings and street signs are reeling past. Lexie takes one step into Soho, then another, and another. There is one car parked at the side of the road a man is standing in a doorway, reading a newspaper there is an awning half closed above a shop in a third-storey window a woman is leaning out to water some flowers in a window box. It seems quiet for a place full of inebriates. Lexie looks up the street that on her map is marked as Moor Street. 'But I'm not a cat, Mrs Collins,' she said, and ran the rest of the way down the stairs.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |