sometime I need to have a break from the estate... from it's dirty corridors... from fresh spit on its walls, stairs and mirrors... from the cold... the draft... from the smell of weed... from the broken glass... from lifts that hardly ever work ... from pools of urine on the lift floor ... from the sound of machines building new estates outside... from lack of my own space... from .... and from... but never from the people that live there... maybe just from the inability to adjust myself to that place... there is always a feeling that I belong somewhere else.

I spent one week in Clapton. A friend of mine left me his keys.