The saddest thing about gentrification is that it has the natives feeling as if they cannot grace their home roads unless dressed to the nines.
Heeled outsiders grace the pavements in past time sightseeing of this exhibition. Coiffed swing trousers stomp as if the crumbling structures had been theirs to love, once thriving, and now, barren.
Sweet additive pineapple cake, and oily pattie-man who’d approach smilin’ like he want you for lunch. Now he sit, legs stretched, pon the floor, a can for him.
When we were Hackney.