Nature & Cure

On endings.

Where my tower block once existed in brutalist simplicity, was now a milkshake conglomerate building—built in a night, it had seemed to me, the unobservant. The concrete walls oozed with stale milk, poured over the Betfred below. The birds fed on gummed flies and flew back with heavy bellies.

I sit on a tree stump; the Jogger had died. Opposite, The Brea…