London, can you wait?

so i folded him up like an azure burkha and tucked him into my overnight bag. miro hearts london. (i do not.)

-

I can feel your halo, halo, halo.
I can see your halo, halo, halo.
I can feel your halo, halo, halo.
I can see your halo, halo, halo.

He had Touche Eclat, his wallet, his gun, two silver 60s rings by Fromm, keys, lip balm, morphine pills and a banana in his manbag. Travelling light. Florence and the Machine were softly singing about Beyonce's halo, whispering then trilling into his ears. Echolalia.

'Mmmnnmmorphine on a train...', he texted to Alannah.

I can feel your halo, halo, halo.

The Pendalino and our boy leaned into the smooth corners, rushing north to south, light travelling. He hit Euston, softly.

I can see your halo, halo, halo.

Boris, his aesthetician and dentist, was waiting for him on the platform wearing a diamante splashed black arm band - he was mourning the death of Michael Jackson, who had died the day before.

'Oh, I'm in bits,' said Boris. 'Bits.'