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Here’s a very summery Brighton piece.  It is a bit poem-like.  I’ll admit it.  But I like it as a flash so that’s how you’re getting it!

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“Hello.  Hello again.”
Brighton catches my lapel, draws me into a doorway, breathing,
“Did you forget?  I think you forgot.”
Hurls me onto sun-splashed pavements where feet have to run to catch the ground.  Where buses dance the city streets like light-footed rhinos.

Her streets pass me, hand to hand, stripping the willow of my life, into the arms of the Palace Pier.  Ceaseless movement underneath.  Pinky toys with Rose on another night and I fall down, aged six, and bite my own lip.  Red on my blue, panda t-shirt.

On the land, eyes are fixed sea-ward from a hundred regency bays.  I can feel them there like lights strung along my veins.  In the hot, sweet donut grease, I catch a hint of Chanel.

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