The night shift

Another trip home from the magical Tooting Bec. The night shift of keeping the magic alive. There's normally an adventure to report, but perhaps nothing tonight. Just the usual people you'd expect to see late at night. People walking home, a couple here and there. A French couple tonight. From what I made out she was talking about spending time with him. That was nice. They were headed towards a kebab shop. It seemed out of character. But no, to the taxi office next door.

For me the night bus with the usual crowd. A comforting bunch. A mixture of the slightly drunk and the late commuters ready for bed.

These journeys seem to be all I blog about. Perhaps it's the safest thing I have. I feel chipper at this time of day, but it always follows that time when you say goodbye for the night. That bit is the difficult part, so I head out to find an adventure. This suits me fine. Keeping the magic going in Tooting Bec is important, like a Quixotic mission, armed with a cardboard sword and shield, out to defend all that's good from any hint of ill will and from any bad thoughts. It's enough to keep me heroic. And in cowards like me this is important.