Last summer, in London at least, the hoodie was transformed from a benign piece of leisurewear into a uniform for the disaffected, the angry, the malevolent. So much so that ‘hoodie’ was no longer a piece of clothing. It was a whole person. A hoodie was somebody likely to steal, plunder and do you unimaginable harm.
People were crossing the street when a hoodie crossed their path - even if it was a 70-year-old gentleman walking his dog. That’s how quickly the fear had permeated the collective consciousness. And lifting the hood was tantamount to cocking a gun.
Mots clés social-commentary crime riot london-riots
There was a ringing in his ears, like a dead phone line that he couldn’t hang up on.
Mark CapellMots clés fighting crime-fiction gangsters police-corruption
Dell had left the army and taken the discipline home with him. I’d left the theatre world and taken the whisky sodas home with me.
Mark CapellMots clés humour alcohol liquor drink
In the main café area next door, Delilah is coming to the end of Moonlight Sonata. The final notes are deep, sad — placed in a way only Beethoven knows how to place notes. They drill a hole in my stomach and place a lead weight there. If death has ever been portrayed in music, it’s in those final bars. And yet, at the same time, they’re so beautiful.
Mark CapellI settle for a radio station that’s currently playing a Tom Waits track. That man has so much gravel in his voice that, if he coughed, you could build a road with the contents of his phlegm.
Mark CapellMots clés music phlegm tom-waits
What would be the point of safety measures? What’s the point of a man balancing on a wire if there’s no risk of his life coming to a premature end? Where’s the danger in that? Where’s the spectacle?
Mark CapellPage 1 de 1.
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.