Its another morning on Charlotte Street when the blue door of the red-brick building bangs closed and I am out cold on the pavement dropping the tesco bag garbage and walking to the zebra-crossing while observing the next door neighbours-workers taking the first smoke of the day. They too observe and know me and do not know me. I check both sides of the road at the zebra crossing and walk the fragile passage of the road where vehicles of all types: taxis, bt tracks, motor-bikes etc stop only for me. Sometimes they smile at you too, depends whether you are in a good mood or not.
Do we really have vision of the zebra-crossing? Or do we cross and not know the cars are running over us?
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