“Tailor of timeless thread Sow me an overcoat fit for the gods From horned rams wool To blunt the teeth of winter Dye it black as the Great White’s eyes So I can slip past the dead Line it with Red Widow’s silk To keep the blood from cooling Make the pockets deep So I can fill them with gold.” 04/02/2011. - Hastings , England.- The wind blew in through my back, into my heart, and out through my ribs. It froze my blood, flesh and bones. I had nothing left. My money had splintered into loose change. The post-apocalyptic nightmare called me to come and rest with the ghosts. And yet, there was an immense feeling of clarity at having nothing, and owning nothing, except the rags on my back. My lack of capital was burning round my mind. But as the cold ripped into my spine it numbed my despair. What I needed was warmth. ...
