Straight on, the gentrified yet still down at heal precincts of Kentish Town and Archway.
Every tomtit gnosis needs a method, so of course my or our version definitively needed a method, a technique.
His own hyper-real cosmology of chance intersections, the random deification of the inconsequential moment, demanded it.
They need only an aptitude for minutely missing the point, for failing to see the wider picture.
Techno-vampires, energy geeks and ghouls, an unwashed army of F-stopping lens magicians and focus pullers, they lacked the essential animus, the divine spark, the pre-cogging talent that might in another universe have made them artists.
They wheeze and stutter, lurch and heave, from station to station.