| Raw |
[Dec. 13th, 2002|10:43 am] |
| [ | Feeling |
| | drained | ] |
| [ | Reading |
| | Robert Harris, Fatherland, for the nth time | ] |
The flowers are creeping up the lamp-post in Finsbury Square - half a dozen bunches now. They've almost reached the yellow police sign calling for witnesses to come forward. The notes with them are raw in their emotion and shock - song lyrics or poetry, loving words carrying the hope that somehow they'll be heard.
And the phone box has been cleared of cards.
I'm glad it's the weekend. I need it badly.
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