OASIS:

 

At 3:00am we were turfed out onto the streets of Nottinghill, 

not so posh back then or a place to be caught wandering after 

dark. 

Our first appointment was at 10:00, so with knuckles deep in 

pockets, arms tight to our sides for insulation we started 

walking, walking, wet & freezing, hunting warmth & shelter 

or just a friend. Somewhere around 5:00am we reached the rim 

of Soho. A little cafe appeared through the rain like a mirage 

on the Charring Cross Road (it’s still there). Bright lights, 

mirrors, high stools, formica, a transistor radio playing 

concealed from thieving hands. I remember an overwhelming presence 

of ‘yellow. We shuffled in, glancing back over our shoulders for 

wolves, rattling change, counting out what little we had. 

Yesterdays cakes & ready-filds watching us, fat & wrinkled behind 

glass, hopeful for a little company, looking for trade. A colossal 

Gaggia squat & fizzed behind the counter, clouds of white noise 

steam billowing from it’s chromium bulk, rising in snakes fanning 

out across the ceiling, falling on us as a warm & welcome mist. 

Ross & me found two stools furthest from the door, a chill wind being 

sucked in by the warmth of the cafe. The mirrored walls looked back 

at us with sunk-eyes, faces ten years older than they’d been the night 

before. Splashing out to the extravagance of two teas we said very 

little & made it last an hour. 

 

 

(K)