Only memories of him were left, his hooting laughter, his charm ...

Once we were inside inside the black cab, I thought of Geoff - 

I remembered how he had gone everywhere by taxi - 

He'd dig into the pockets of his flying jacket for the fare, crumpling a big note into the driver's hand - 

Always give a tip he'd say - buses? - I never go on buses ! - 

Geoff had a moustache like Fu Manchu's - when I first met him, he worked in the wine trade - he'd uncork a bottle of Pouilly Fume with slender dexterous fingers, pouring out the lavish bumpers - 

Later he became a teacher - he was gifted with craziness and erratic charm - 

He'd hitch hiked to Dharmsala - he'd survived dysentery and heartbreak - 

As we were driven from Stratford to Forest Gate, I wondered what had happened to Geoff - 

I remember how he'd refused to have have his fortune told in Malham - 

Richard had seen him walk away into the darkness - cigarettes had glowed like small red stars - 

Then he was gone - only memories of him were left, his hooting laughter, his charm - 

Sunday 20 February 2016

Stratford

London