THE MAGAZINE MAN:
Dimitri runs the magazine stand on the corner of Sherwood &
Fairfax, talks to stars who stop & buy. Used to be an air steward,
came to London in ’77, said the people there were lovely to him &
his wife. He sits at a table, waiting for customers, lap top propped
up on magazines, wiling away the days watching the small screen in
tinsel town, a tiny rack of cigarettes at his back between the high
gloss covers of his printed flock, waits long after dark for passing
trade. Dimitri thinks Timothy Spall is a good guy, always stops to
talk when he’s in town, some stars don’t, they like to remain above
the clouds, but some return to Earth & Dimitri says Timothy is one.
I’m glad, ’cause I always liked his acting, never let me down,
good to know he’s the real deal, like a stick of Blackpool rock.
So, we bought two magazines & stopped to shoot the breeze, shook
his hand, it was big & rough, strong as an iron glove, a kind light
in his eyes. Bought an out’ve season copy of Raw Vision, my favourite
art publication, that kindred outsider emotion connection.
We bought two, he gave us one for free, so we gave him our names
for safe keeping. Dimitri smiled & waved, said he hoped we’d be back,
we told him we would & when we do we’ll drop in to see him like