Above: The class of '66 has fidgeted, upped and gone.
The urban tree remains, meaningless. The sticky, suffocating miasma of urban summer.
It was only much later, when it was my turn to receive the dog-eared copy of Satre's Nausea that , on reading '6'o'clock in the evening', I fully understood what I'd felt all those years staring, numb, at that tree.
Below: 'Crum-pum-nigh-pal' was a bit of slang peculiar, I imagine, to that area of N4. It referred to 'fingering' - and being the runt ( and a press-ganged one at that ) of the posse, I was made to sniff the triumphant finger.
I've inverted it to reflect the true ( I hope ) potency of Tone, Johnnny, Steve, Pete and Del.