One last chance tonight

The Gorillaz are playing the Kentish Town forum tonight, swiftly pass a queue and I tell Jo that I don't want to go home tonight. She leaves me alone anyway after asking if I remember Arthur Scargill and the miners. Marc and Sara and I vowed under the electricity of the night that we would go to Glastonbury next year and there remains a
shred of the dusty field and drinking Blackthorn from a paper cup. The wax on the cups burns well so I built a small fire for passion, for warmth, waiting for the band to emerge and illuminate the stage.

The saturated hamburger air, tents as far as the eye can see; shouts that we are having the time of our lives. This indie-kid-fervour forever
rule the Somerset and Berkshire plains of festivity.

I do not dread, I desire growing old, melting through the crowds in wisdom and to flow in contentment through the corrugated steel paths,
following the rhythmic clicking of tractor tyres and metal soles past the stalls of wonderment . I
gaze at the pylons the blood-stained sky, the myriad swarms of life.

You my friends are eternal also, your dedication to me, your lives overlapping mine, the faded chalk messages on the meeting board amongst
a hundred other scratched testimonies and bonds.