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west end, london, 1940 by Lee MillerHenceforth I ask not good fortune, I myself am good- fortune.Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing.-Oscar Wilde'I am poor taxi driver from east. But I give you ride for free,' he tells me. 'Don't forget how poor I am and how I give you little part of myself. I am so poor that I can't afford roof for car. Three years here and still no roof. I buy car for one hundred quid. Only now do I realise that I could get it for less, nobody wants such car. Such is life. Such is misery, my friend.'The car has no roof and was charcoal burnt black.'This is your taxi?''Yes...yes, of course...of course..what else you think I drive?'It had been so long since I'd been here. So long since I swore not to return. He drops me off on the outskirts; seas and seas of concrete and advertising signs. I thank him and get out. I sit down on a bench and gaze out at the city. With the arrival of the city comes the end of a sweet and tender week. Such is the nectar that I long for it deeply, though it has just left. And with it, deeper than the time, my longing for her. Something impossible. Unimaginable. Of worlds found under rocks and of Shams and of fifty thousand years.Shining grey pigeons lick the ground beside an old woman throwing bread, her lips cracking out over her face. The first time I've ever seen someone smile in this city. Three years I dwelt here! The walk into central is long. Beginning at Burnt Oak, into Hampstead and the concrete never ends. But I am used to it now. In Bulgaria, grey trees are being introduced. Only when I have to begin walking on a dual carriageway do I begin to curse when cars honk their horns at me, violently, slicing me through the night. I hop on one foot instead to show them I don't care. And they pass on to wherever, angry and fixated on release.The shift was until 6am. Now, it was eight pm and I'm ready to sleep, outside on the bus stop bench. The walk for hours and nerves and camden market with it's new giant horse and all everything todo made my eyes heavy and my legs into lead. Graffiti of a woman hitting a tiny prime minister with her handbag makes me grin. I ordered chips for I had not had them in years and they taste of fish and when one begins to flap its fins, I have enough and put them sadly into the bin. I never throw away food. I eat people's thrown away food. But fish in the chips was not the deal. Fish and chips - perhaps. At the venue, the security wore shirts and ties. I imagined the one with the shining moon head to tumble onto the ground with laughter when I would tell him that I'm working there tonight with my red clown trousers on and my long straggly hear. 'This is not possible!', he would say, 'you...work here?'They must have changed a lot in the last years since I last worked. One time, after falling in a ditch trying to find a place for my tent, I came into work covered in mud. They never said a word. Even commented that I smelt like I'd been hiking and did I enjoy it? Merde! Merde o' merde o' merde! Je vais faire quoi maintenant? I circle. Perhaps my courage will be gathered that way. A little spin will make everything okay.But it isn't. And I remember how I quit here and the sign I pinned up on my wall afterwards, scrawled over the contract termination and all that went down with a ten pound note and how I vowed never to work again...that didn't really turn out like that...and how cycling back that night at the end I felt blackbirds pour out of me, and now, to return? It's the best paying night of the year, remember, I tell myself.But it doesn't ease anything, and coins seem more and more just like numbers and nothing more and one day they'll disappear completely and I'll have no more of them and then what? More numbers can always be found, a blackbird tells me, swooping down upon my shoulder.You again? -Yes. I'll always be here when you need to do something that you don't want to do. You must transform it. Desire it, powerfully, whatever you do. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.-What?A blackbird needs to tell me this... I don't mean to offend you but...-Even our droppings and worst moments shine if you look at them real close. You're really foolish, sometimes.And with that, he flies off without another word.The security guard meets me and radios for the manager, all the while looking at me oddly. I'd overheard a conversation he'd had with the same bird earlier, they'd been discussing the sighting of a wolf down brick lane.
