There I was at 4 PM.
I left Piccadilly Circus underground metro station,
I’m now in one of the streets of Westminster.
I was searching for Vivienne Westwood store,
I was looking for their Narcissa necklace.
There, in my adventure I took these pictures:
At that time the sun was going down,
shades of indigo created irruptions in the sky
above this crowded city.
It felt alive in there,
Frank Sinatra was singing
a Christmas carol somewhere,
but I wasn’t there in time to hear
the churches bells ringing.
In the heart of Mayfair, I saw millionaires in debt,
in line for an AP watch, or overcrowding Ralph’s café,
spending 8 pounds on a chocolate chip cookie.
Is it inflation? Or mental issues?
Taking a picture to burry in a phone’s gallery
is a form of making memories in this century.
It’s The Neo-memory period.
It’s embarrassing to see so many people
of my own kind; they’re the reason of these
stereotype allegations I get all the time.
I mean, if they’re rich, I’m not.
They wear Patek Philippe watches,
I only wear a Rolex...
I hate how brain-washed people are,
they only look at the designer brands shops.
I hate how brain-fried people are,
they have an attention span of a dead corps.
Instead of looking at these gothic architects,
they scroll through TikTok.
I need a goth woman in my life
who studies architectural engineering.
And so, the night was turning chill,
my empty stomach wanted hot coffee to fill.
I stopped at an old café for a flat white,
while drinking my coffee, I was meditating;
looking at blurry faces, going in and out of places.
I realized it’s almost closing time,
I ran and left half a cup behind.
Now I understand, Virginia, these streets are haunted
by us.
Hi, Vivienne!