i could spend my whole life following you around inthe streets from shop to shop-through thin industrialalleyways and corridors with loading docks and darkturns with drunks sitting in the corner spilling ontothe street with their bottles wrapped in brown paper bags. we weave our way in and out of newsagents and bookshops and bottle shops and i lose myself in yourstories about the places we pass trying to see withyour eyes what it was like so many years ago. sometimes we end up at opposite ends of a shop andacross the shelves i see you flipping through a glossymagazine or gently handling a thick paperback by awriter who you saw perform when you were traveling around Europe. and then we walk outside and we begin our way downanother street. sometimes i don't really hear thestories you tell because i am lost in the way youpaint from the past to me and want to ask questionsbut change my mind afraid that you will stop talking. sometimes we get lost which you deny. i know where weare going but i keep quiet and let you lose us so ican get to see you scratch your head submerged inthought and being lost makes the trip a little longer. every street has a memory for you and cafe owners arefriends of yours from the time you were a student hereand in love with an attractive blond German girl overthere who stood you up and this was only the secondtime someone has ever done that to you. then we come back to wherever we are meant to be andyou belong to others again and i to my own cornerthinking of the coffee shop woman's sad life and startto notice the barber shop does play 60s music...