Tuesday, August 21, 1984

Shadowed night

I called in on Lee at the squat.

He seemed glad to see me—it’s been six days since we last had contact. He’s nearly finished writing up his essay in rough. He showed me mirror writing à la Leonardo and said he’s been spending hours practicing, getting very bored at nights and walking to the Marina in the early hours of the morning with nothing but moths and lacewings for company.

Earlier I bought my coach ticket and joined Watermouth Public Library. I only intended dropping in on Lee so he could cut my hair, but I ended up staying all night, kipping on the floor for a couple of hours while he worked.

We walked to the Marina, which is a part of Watermouth I’ve never visited before. It was stark and concrete in the shadowed night, the foot level lights throwing up enormous shadows as we walked. The sea was illuminated by spot lamps and took on a turquoise radiance, a featureless liquid blue fog in which seagulls bobbed incongruously.

We went to the very tip of one of the Marina’s encircling concrete ‘arms’ and sat at the foot of its red flashing lamp, gazing out to sea and talking about how good it would be to own a boat. We were moved on by two security men. Lee took a picture of me standing beneath the glare of a sodium street lamp. We wandered back and paused at the all-night café for breakfast.

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