In Brighton, the rain runs hard and fast down Queens Road, past kebab shops and street fights and neon lights. Hen parties spill out onto the pavement with leather skirts bound tight. Bouncers are shaking down the last kids in town, as train strikes besiege the midnight commuters heading north. The taxis wait like army ants strung out across the concourse. The streets are alive with fire on a Saturday night. In the Albert, we sit and lament over ruinous nights and drink until our bellies are full. In the morning we will sip coffee in fear of the bleary sunrise whilst seagulls pick t… read more
In Brighton, the rain runs hard and fast down Queens Road, past kebab shops and street fights and neon lights. Hen parties spill out onto the pavement with leather skirts bound tight. Bouncers are shaking down the last kids in town, as train strikes besiege the midnight commuters heading nort… read more
In Brighton, the rain runs hard and fast down Queens Road, past kebab shops and street fights and neon lights. Hen parties spill out onto the pavement with leather skirts bound tight. Bouncers are shaking down the last kids in town, as train strikes besiege the midnight commuters heading north. The taxis wait like army ants strung out across the concourse. The st… read more