Textling #30

The mundane links us into our neighbourhoods, the passage through and habitual use of everyday places. I haven’t been to the local library in years, nor a dry-cleaner’s, charity shop, bakery, super or street market; haven’t chatted with the newsagent, or moaned with others in the same slow-moving post-office queue. En route to hospital, say, or a friend’s settee, I see façades flit by, the outermost of moneyed and embattled lives, houses boarded-up, shop fronts with nothing behind, glass-fronted office blocks with huge foyers, and no trace of their inner workings.

Just before Xmas I caught a glimpse of urban (I presume) shopping when a friend posted photos taken at TK Maxx. Stranger than a flea-market stall, a mythical place, gifts galore, discarded and discardable things, trivial things, far travelled things, lost and found things, immeasurable things, treasures, troves, tropes, heaps, hopes, dizzy-bright, dizzy-dark, everything cheery and kind of broken, headless, only the unicorn, and my greedy eye…


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