White Carrera lined the entrance hall. The day she moved in the doorman helped her carry boxes into the lift.
It’s subtle veining was still there today but hidden under grime and graffiti. The doorman died, wasn’t replaced. The lift lasted until ’82. Then, piss filled and creaking that died too.
She sat on a white plastic chair with a no6 on the balcony. Bus engines idled in the streets below.
Watched the flat’s reflection in the shop window opposite. Buses moved revealing a Chicken King, Paddy Power and Money Supermarket where the very best shops once stood.